The Sleeper

Shadow lies soft upon his eyes,
As the sky wears its disguise,
Where harbour roots and boughs be beams,
And leafwork lattice laces dreams,
Where nothing is fixed,
Or as it seems.

Butterflies wing away,
Escaping from the fleeting day,
The sleeper hears no passing cars,
Where ivy crawls in bed of stars.

And lo! The muffled owl calls,
From his greenery decked halls,
Taking heed, he takes his fright,
From the shifting, dappled light.

All is subtle, sleighted sight,
Where the struggling saplings might.