Dreams of Flowers

Dreams of flowers; visions of trees.

Songs of the meadow-lark in the breeze.

Prophetic clouds; fantastic shapes,

A world all covered in Nature’s green drapes.

Lying beneath the old linden-tree,

Dozing and dreaming of what used to be.

Pixies and fairies may come back some day,

Fawns and satyrs returning to play

In the deep meadows and green vales of eld;

Naiads and draiads now centuries old

Whisper to centaurs the songs of the sky:

Stars and rainbows and phoenix that fly.

From fastness of story and chambers of dreams

Arise the old legends of oceans and streams.

The tales for the telling of Summer and Fall,

The birth of the sun and the moon and all

The flaming white stars. Old stories that show,

Why Summer is hot and Winter has snow.

Dreams of flowers; visions of shade

Born in the twilight where magic was made.

Elves and dwarves and wizards with staffs,

Mischievous fairies that prank for the laughs,

All the half-creatures and half-men we know.

Magic is real – but where did it go?