To the Lady of DreamLight falls in curtains upon forgotten glades where there who writes, the Lady of Dream,her refrains of beautiful rhyme, oftencoupled with gentle song. Halo'd, she seemsan angel in the wood, with hair of finespun gold. Butterflies kiss her shoulder blades,their wings hers. Sunlight dances making her shine.The earth whispers verses that will not fadeA silver pen writes the dreams of young men.Children's peace roll of her lashes, falling pearls,she weeps their hope for future. Grace, her penpaints; Lilied grave, eddying water whirls.Inspiring images with hearts gleammost oft' the butterfly winged Lady of Dream
Today, Yesterday, TomorrowSomeone died Today or Yesterday or maybe even TomorrowI attended not the funeralbut I could hear it.A silent, solomn processionthat screams in your head.GriefSomeone was born Today, or Yesterday, or maybe even TomorrowI saw not the birthbut I could feel it.The babes cry like silkthat sweeps your heart.JoyI stopped breathing Today, or Yesterdayor maybe even Tomorrow.I felt not the cessationbut I knew it had happened.I ask that my kaleidoscope piecesperhaps be put together again.Hope
Days of OldWe sat and listened as the bards sang away,of knights and queens and quests,of places far, of the olden days.Where dragons paraded the skiesand fairies comforted the child's cry.Their voices carried dreams of beautiful landsand earth scored by great blue fire.Then reshaped with goodly hands,and of kings, welfare, riches and desire.The days of old are sung and byonly to be told in stories,where we could fly above blue skyand not be plagued by worry.
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