Dreams
by Denny Lancaster

A little wink, a little nod awhile,
the blare of day is gone away;
In my dreams to sing and smile,
then to awake for another day.

But now in this sleepy heart,
faeries await me in dreams now;
And places near, and far apart
have plenty of room in my brow.

There we spot them among hills,
where winter sends no rain,
but Irish ale tempers chills
and that light warms again.

My dreams are not bare
with moon beams as a dome,
and my home on earth is dear,
but not like my faerie home.

They sit on walled corner stone,
with green moss on the wall,
the garden walk is flowered grown,
and they smile at me, one and all.

Where ever I would go or seek,
within this happy faerie sky,
their tongues music speak,
and never of me ask why.

Yes I am really asleep in my room,
the dreams will not die away,
and in the midst of cloudy gloom,
I passed into their unclouded day.

Now I am on a lonely dusty lane,
one that opens into a hill side;
Lined by a wall of earthly pain
but faeries circle far and wide.

The sounds are clear and calm,
so sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
Then thrust into my hand a charm
and peacefulness is everywhere.

This is scene I saw and would tell,
and let you now the path is near,
and that the lonely path will swell,
but in your hand is something dear.

Reader if you could linger an hour,
it would well been worth a week of toil;
But the truth of faeries is in their power
when pain and suffering will recoil.

Even as you read with raptured eye,
absorbed in bliss so dear and deep
my hour of rest has now fleeted by,
now it is your time for this sleep.

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