My Clay Tree

I have made my tree.
I call it the tree of luck.
When I am sad at night it glows high and bright.
I can see the fairies flying at night.
Now they are gone out of sight.
I can see mountains.
The tree is growing like a fountain.
I can smell the crusty trunk of the tree.
It stays always with me.
I can taste the crystal blue air in my mouth.
Then soon later the air comes from South.
I can hear the wind whistling throw the leaves.
In spring I can imagine the flowers blooming.
And in autumn I can imagine the flowers falling.
Now I can smell the sweet summer breeze.
My clay tree.