On dreamer's hill I often sit,
And let the fantasies appear,
By gentle coaxing, the mind is lit,
With images so very clear.
I travel off to another time,
And browse amongst each fertile thought,
To find a dream that's of such prime,
Which all imagination's caught.
To unknown scenes, I sally forth,
Encountering people who there abide,
And whether it's of calmness or of wrath,
One never cares, one can simply glide,
Along in the dream which has constant flow,
For no action of mine can alter one mite,
The way I'm transported, and I never know,
On dreamer's hill, my next dream's flight.
© Ernestine Northover
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem