The Milky Way
By Hilda Conkling
Down the highroad of the Milky Way
We go riding
On horses made of stars.
The clouds flit like white butterflies;
We are dry . . . we do not know it is raining
Upon earth.
Roses of opal and pearl
Sway back and forth in the muisical wind . . .
Pine trees like emeralds hang . . .
A pheasant’s wing like a fan is spread . . .
White mountain-peaks gleam . . .
Purple and silver is the sunrise.
Quiet lakes shine along the Milky Way
Like mirrors you hang on cottage walls.
When I am asleep
This is what I shall dream.
Things can never really go,
They come again and stay.
When your thoughts are put on beautiful things
They come alive and stay alive
In your mind.
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