While dawn still sleeps she weaves a tapestry
of dreams—blooms unfurl, petals swirl, pearl soft.
Starshine blue and lunar white, memories
unfold like wings of mourning doves aloft,
their flight a dappled path toward light. Spun
of shadows old and new, each threaded tale
bursts multi-hued, a kaleidoscope of
cooling moon and budding sun, ivied trails
leading her toward home. At morning’s rise
she clings to dream-like tendrils fading fast
as tapestries exposed to slanting light—
their colors pale, their stories rarely last.

When dawn awakes she leaves her dreams behind,
just scattered seeds from blossoms on the vine.

Shirlee Jellum is a retired English teacher who publishes poetry, fiction and nonfiction, most recently in Persimmon Tree, The Sun and Word Peace.