Night Visitor Poem by James Mills

I never think of you but were I to,
were you to visit this too busy head
that spills ideas but not one thought of you,
you'd come, I know, as I lie in my bed
where dreams come, for who can command their dreams?
You'd laugh again and smile and hold me tight
remind me to remember all our schemes.
With morning comes another day, new light,
nightime and what it held becomes the past
a country where I cannot come again;
wasteland, a void where nothing good can last,
a place where only fools in love remain.
I never think of you, that much I know
but who can tell where in our dreams we go?