Aleria Poem by Christopher Teale

Would you follow me into the sacred grove?
Where my soul rests when it sleeps,
there Aleria my dreams nightly reaps
and carries them away to spread from heavenly alcove

Like shooting stars they fall in flames
to light the night of sleeping mortals
dreams are her brightly coloured games
her eyes are pigment shattered opals

Adorned with naught but silver thread
that weaves around phantasmal shape
any woman in comparison, an ape
the clouds her home, the ground she doesn't tread

Only if I dream can I hope to see
her come to reap with sharpened scythe
from my grove, the fruit of my tree
and the love in my soul runs away with the night