I’ll dream new dreams in
a land far away,
new poems will remain,
about a beautiful girl, I say.

My words will flicker
between fingers on an old guitar,
and she will wait for me there,
in some wondrous bookstore afar.

There, my words will mark,
prominently displayed,
like eyes that flash in the dark,
a destiny beautifully portrayed.

I’ll rest silent in grave by then,
while she dreams of me,
each verse I’ve penned,
awakening her memorie.

Everything will be spoken,
my poetry appreciated,
to you, unknown beloved woman,
this poem is dedicated.