The Dream, Or The Real World? Poem by Maria Barbara Korynt

not yet it is raining
and to the solace for farmers
an early bird is singing

when herons, paddling
in the water, are crying
out loud, although

these are not people
I can hear the whirr of wings.
wild ducks are flying

I am throwing flat pebbles into water.
good are. and enrapturing me.
with the colour.

golden buttercups,
when I am going,
are dying under my legs

somebody, has large
the foot, and red hair.
stunning me - is horrifying

I am open my eyes, straight
on the world. I am looking,
and is good. it was a dream.