The Writers' Circle

Who sleeps in starlit meadows
these children of the light.
That point themselves toward heaven
until the fall of night.

Then turn their faces in sorrow
with tears that last till dawn.

Until at first light are reborn
to catch the morning sun.

To ride it across the heavens
until the stars come out.

Then sleep in silence
on the evening mist.
Waiting for the sunshine prince
with his morning kiss.

Who sleeps in silent meadows
these children of the light.
Whose faces steal the rainbow
to turn grey in the dark of night.

They stand like silent sentinels,
defenseless in their right,
to guard the sleeping mother earth
throughout her endless flight.