I have this dream of a valley, rich and high in the Smokies unchanged.
and a long lazy cloud floating up, where my hopes for tomorrow remain.
Yes the smoke in my mind's eye does rise from a fire that burns in my brain.
I have this dream of a valley, where everyone knows your true name.
In the hour of doubt and confusion when the days dry and whither in vain.
I return to my home in the valley where carefree I welcome the rain.
Maybe most people have a daydream where they find peace. They seem a perfect blend of possibility and fantasy. Where these impressions come from is a mystery. A painting? A dream? All I know is that they are a sort of perfection. A place where all of the senses come together and contentment fills the valley.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Edmund, I like how this poem begins in the first stanza. You're striking there on something many of us feel. I wonder if/how you might change it if you came back to it- hence this message. Me, I reserve the right to tinker with my own work as much as I want, always, of course, by capturing the feeling or inspiration of the original. -Glen