I thought that daydreaming
Was  allowed always,
That  no age  could
Stop you  from  doing  so,
Far  away,  to lands
With a precious gaze,
Who no one  other  than  yourself
Would know.

There would be  many
Pastel  meadows there,
And  storylines
Of  characters unknown,
Some  ugly,  tragical  or  only  fair,
Who still  all  have  to be
To people  shown.

But  no, it's hard  to think it is allowed; I  should be  serious,
Only  think of the  things
Who're  near,
And  not  be  like  a  cloud,
Always  o­n well-known  earth  –
Not  up above.

Now  I  am  in my
Twenties and reflect,
If  I  should embrace  this,
Or  only  neglect.