THE FOOL’S SONG

Lying flat on

the fragrant earth

   I listen to the grasses whisper,

   I sing a song,

and I dream.

   I dream

            that your eyes are shining

with a smile mine, mine alone.

   I dream

that I am touching

some happy thing your hand has warmed.

   I dream

-oh, I dream

of things impossible-

  like a foolish spider

     spinning flimsy webs

in but a moment swept away

by cruel winds of disillusionment.

What does it matter?

Why should I cease

When all my life

is in dreams?