Some dreams become memories,
Some lay waiting, quiet, in bed
Some are vague, and their vagaries
Are things, best left unsaid…

Some are vivid, colourful, drawn
Upon the day we spent, in struggle
Some are purely plain, yet born
Of some deep unsettling trouble

Some dreams are funny, some divine
Some, they dare us to cross that line
Between the truth, reality, and farce
Some just make us wish for the stars

And yet what dream remains, but vapour
Upon our misty, dreamy eyes at dawn
But for him who puts it down on paper
And for him, who lets it take shape, be born…