My Ceiling is the Starlit Night
Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 1:03 am
Being down in Boyup Brook always re-enforces the feeling behind this poem I wrote a few years ago.
I camp in my swag in the back of my ute - not quite the ground, but the sky above is incomparable.
My Ceiling is the Star-lit Night
© Irene Conner 04/08/08
My ceiling is the star-lit night;
my floor, the dew-drenched ground;
my walls, the trunks of ghostly gums
that circle me around.
A quarter moon illuminates
and silhouettes the sky
with gumtree canopies that dance
upon the night wind’s sigh.
My canvas swag’s impervious
to nature’s biting cold;
cocooned within it’s warm embrace,
I let the night unfold.
The questing fingers of a breeze
intrude into my space
and trace their chilly paths upon
the contours of my face.
The night sounds sing a gentle song;
the filtered moonlight gleams
and wraps me in a peaceful shroud
that mingles with my dreams.
The morning light creeps slowly then
the sun comes into view
and nature works her magic for
my spirit to renew.
My ceiling is the rising sun;
my floor, the dew-drenched ground;
my walls, the trunks of ghostly gums
that circle me around.
I camp in my swag in the back of my ute - not quite the ground, but the sky above is incomparable.
My Ceiling is the Star-lit Night
© Irene Conner 04/08/08
My ceiling is the star-lit night;
my floor, the dew-drenched ground;
my walls, the trunks of ghostly gums
that circle me around.
A quarter moon illuminates
and silhouettes the sky
with gumtree canopies that dance
upon the night wind’s sigh.
My canvas swag’s impervious
to nature’s biting cold;
cocooned within it’s warm embrace,
I let the night unfold.
The questing fingers of a breeze
intrude into my space
and trace their chilly paths upon
the contours of my face.
The night sounds sing a gentle song;
the filtered moonlight gleams
and wraps me in a peaceful shroud
that mingles with my dreams.
The morning light creeps slowly then
the sun comes into view
and nature works her magic for
my spirit to renew.
My ceiling is the rising sun;
my floor, the dew-drenched ground;
my walls, the trunks of ghostly gums
that circle me around.