The long times when there's nothing else to do
Are slow, but amiable, and so I write
Of cornucopias and morning dew,
And lands where everything will turn out right.
I don't imagine that these things are real
Nor that I'll ever visit such a place;
But still I navigate to them by feel
And give their presence an imagined chase.
Why should I not? I know they are but air,
Floating away within my head in shapes
Formed by pretending, but I cannot care,
So in these long slow times my mind escapes
Into a fantasy - and why not so?
Your love's a fantasy as well you know.
No comments:
Post a Comment