Lonely love, in a shadow warm.
Laid the eggs of dreams.
Brooding in the golden barn.
Among chuckling hay-strings.
The sun would peep, and wake the love.
The sleepy, cozy feather heap.
And dreams would sing and turn to doves,
Would turn to leaves and snowy sheep.
Mother would shut, tight her eyes.
Whisper a song for eternity
Pray the dreams could never hatch.
And end in a silver cutlery.....
