My Muddled, Middled Dream, I Weave. Poem by Michael Gale

Lo' we weave a dream of a middled dream....
Lo' i run to scream, within thy middled dream.

Alas-my muddled weave, as if thy dream had dreamed...
Alas, i saw thy horror's hallway, to thy doorway's beamed.

Because, i pause, as within a dream, i wander on, as if we weave...
We weave, out tendered dream, all so dark, as Winter's leave.

Alas, alas, my tenured lass...
A kiss, well sent, upon thy grass.

A grassy long knoll, about thy pasture...
Greenest mast, above thy, last year.

Again, i leave my middled dream...
Alas, thy asked, it's wintered beam.

I leave, my leave, no matter more...
As I, at last, walk out thy, exited, door.