devin-ellis
American
You are tired, / (I think) / Of the always puzzle of living and doing; / And so am I. / / Come with me, then, / And we'll leave it far and far away— / (Only you and I, understand!) / / You have played, / (I think) / And broke the toys you were fondest of, / And are a little tired now; / Tired of things that break, and— / Just tired. / So am I. / / But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight, / And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart— / Open to me! / For I will show you the places Nobody knows, / And, if you like, / The perfect places of Sleep. / / Ah, come with me! / I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon, / That floats forever and a day; / I'll sing you the jacinth song / Of the probable stars; / I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream, / Until I find the Only Flower, / Which shall keep (I think) your little heart / While the moon comes out of the sea. / / e.e. cummings
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