How long it seems
this night so full of dreaming,the night streams willow reaching underneath my pillow and rocking me,'til my eyes close upon the sights to see which these dreams seem to offer gladly up to me.

Nothing here is real,imaginings and fantasy deal with the mundane that I am,they say a man can dream of being god and ruling like a king over continents or that he may sing as sweet as any skylark,in the dark it doesn't matter who you are or where you've been or married to a king or queen,we look the same to others in the night,shadows to the left and right and nothing here is real.

I feel ashamed to say that in sleeping I long only for the day to wake me,I break out of the dreaming night as a prisoner might break out of jail,sneakily as if no one could be awake to see me,craftily,like a fox I unpick the lock and open wide the morningside of the night.

But how long it seems that dreams have trapped me in that cell,released now dreams know well to leave this man alone,I make more reality my home to live and give those sleeping willow pillows leave to dream elsewhere.