You'll disappear, Dreamer,
In a mordant place like this.
You were created
To sit on Atlas' shoulders,
To sing Lyra's refrain,
To mount a shooting star;
How did you come here, Dreamer?
You are far from your throne;
You do not belong.
Good-bye, Dreamer,
Good-bye, Dreams;
I pray the morrow
Will fare better for you,
And I hope you will find your way home.
YOU ARE READING
The Garden
PoetryA collection of words that were planted and hopefully will not wilt.
