Gossamer

whence they come
mine tender thoughts?
adrift a gossamer breeze
of heaven’s hand,
or, perchance a summer moon?
what pokes and prods
relentless stirs
arouse me turn a loon?
me thinks tis them
come sure of mindless pen
danced of parchment Swoon

Stormy

Was that the wind
A tempest blew,
Or ‘stead,
Vestiges of my life
Gone whooshing by?

~ ~ ~

Skyward

Cast me ashes to the sky
When done my time to be,
As the winsome butterfly,
Free
~ ~ ~