I stood in the shadowy barn, my pony came
and laid a friendly head against my shoulder.
I patted her, and when I left the barn
my dog went running with me toward the house.
This was the whole dream, a scene, a touch
of living memory from a distant past,
and all that day I felt I had been blest,
but I’d have loved to reach the kitchen door
and hear my mother say, “Come set the table.”
All of Sibyl’s poetry published to date on this website can be seen in these posts: