One wonders what dreamworks appear in ones sleep-
Then pass at morning‘s hence,
For these multi hued-dreams when re-seen
never look as they did when slumber first took
You to that vista of color and nonsense.
Their chromatic images all perfumed-
Like a gamblers adroit misty-luck,
One thinks, "Should I turn up my nose-and see how it goes-
"And imbibe in my cartoonish pot-luck? "
But first, I shall ponder the issue of sequenced rational thought
As I fall this night in other dreams that I weave,
And when I awake, perhaps I should wait at my dream's postern gate-
And analyze tonight's dream faraway-and once after I leave.
Yes. Last night's cartoons that I see-
In my day old night-dreamt fantasies,
Are indeed more understandable when I follow this rule-
Of not evaluating until logic dictates what I see.
Yet..? The dream of my bed leads me to where I want to be led
And, to conclude, this also must be said:
Each dream makes me feel newly-nourished-
Even though my pristine-dream has not yet been refurbished,
But the essence springing forth-
well, it feels so well-formed and well fed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem