Dreams are made of fog and clouds,
After comes the rain,
Poems too are but a dream,
That you can't refrain.
Poems, dreams and lifeless themes,
Where are we to turn?
If life is but a cloudy dream
Where, our candle, Burn?
good thought. I like it. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'll read over poems late at night, for comfort. and my unconscious mind dreaming is way smarter than me. so I treasure both. but a poor substitute I suppose. but I would hardly know. good one; -)