Infants Remembered In Silence (IRIS) - Poems

Winged Horses

They are a fantasy, dwelling in dreams.
A place of emerald grass and silver streams.
They come to me in silent flight,
to carry me in darkness through the night.
With star shot wings and hooves of gold,
they are the dreams of children who never grow old.
They wear many colors, bright in the sun.
Hooves striking fire when they run.
They fly the mountain, sea and plain,
and into the heavens without a strain.
Their course is swift, passing time by,
from place to place in the wink of an eye.
To invoke the spell to call them at will,
you must gather moon dew from a sacred hill.
To this you add love, the making of joy,
and a pinch of hope no one can destroy.
Then cast to the winds with the right incantation,
and wait for them with dreams of elation.

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