What is dream?
Once again flight bag, flight suit
But not me
A friend and colleague, is Morris.
I asked him of flight, and the time
Hercules
That plane we flew, separate, together.
“They are old, how are they? ”
We are long retired
I have lost old knowledge and the touch.
Woke early and could not, did not want
Sleeping
Picked the phone and called him for dream.
He was good as normal
Nothing more
What is this? A clue to the dots?
No, not Freud’s
Morris was an absent of thoughts, mind
No news, no changes
Then what was this dream?
Anything to do with infamous 9,1,1?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good poem..............10 I invite you to review my poems