My Soul

If my soul were a place
I think it would be
A warm, sunny meadow,
Lush with tall flowers
Of amber and violet
And scarlet and turquoise
And smelling of roses
With paper-thin butterflies
Flying in comfort
And peaceful, at ease
And then on the sides
There'd be inlets much cooler
Heavy with moisture
And chilling with cold
Weeping willows would hang
Drooping with heartache
With cold drops of dew
Dripping like tears
A hammock would sway
And a wind chime would sing,
Softly and sadly,
Melancholy with grief
But always nearby,
The meadow lies ready
To warm up the cool
Of the willow's deep cold.