Light pink interspersed with
silver plaid ~ join the mix
floating away from
Lost Dutchman’s gold ~ a myth
like the sky ~ born of reality
ironically scampering through the atmosphere
a real treasure to behold.
Wind whipped currents of air
flow ~ poof ~ vanishing into mist!
Just as a century ago the
Dutchman’s treasure did.
Myth behooves reality ~ to speak for itself
instead of fatalistically
sharing the mists ~ two treasures
made of inconsequentialities.
A treasure never found ~ never used and never will be.
Clouds that cover the ground ~ never cooling it and never will.
Revered, but irrelevant,
the Dutchman’s treasure and the sky.
© 2003 by Rosemary Winters Tracey