the boy was sleeping
the night was woke
flaming sky of stars in riot whit many comets falling away
the Moon entered any place
Golds dripping
It was once again
other time lain
does not in vain
the dreaming was tired of to impression the boy
Sometimes it fills the mind until own dreams
Well, it went to the window seeing the golden bright
fusing away
The Dream resolved to walk by the way
it lay amid bouches hidden in the clarity of your hallo
through leaves, it sounds the profound blue dark of the night
the diamonds and the magnific yellow from moon rays that
by that instant fall in drips around
well - it says with a dream voice
I need to go back to my boy's mind. If he wakes up and I am not there, he could dream forever, believing that all imagination that creates is reality.
The Dream came back and filled the boy with beautiful images.
He arrived late.
One morning he was big, a youth, a man.
The only thing that your friends know about him is that he is a dreamer.
Poet
Dreamer
Poet
A dreamer
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Bessie (in memoriam)
A link:
