But, by morning, every dream has fled —
— fled into the sighs of an enchanted dove
— fled into the shadows that a cloud had left behind
— fled into the evanescent fragrances of the mist
One day I had visited your garden.
My nights were like roses along the path.
Their blossoms held dreams that had escaped.
Each petal retrieved a faraway thought.
If only you could come to the gate.
I would offer my bountiful love to you.
I would never need to dream again.
If only I could see you smile one more time.
W. Wayne B.
Poetry book: Eyes of Hope
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