It was bedtime, I was starving.
What to eat?
In the cupboard was a box of dreams.
'Dreams', it said, plainly, and beneath,
'This is your lucky day'.
I tore the top off.
One by one and together
the dreams crowded out, floated to the ceiling,
beyond my spoon and stuck
like so many balloons.
Now,
I ask you, what,
what, was so lucky about that?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem