At night, when dreams grow tall,
In that land without the usual laws,
I’ll fall, without moving an inch,
And I’ll fly, even without wings,
With a truth, free to change its shape,
Unbridled, by the hours of the night.

But now, I wake every morning,
To a song, that seems to truly belong,
To the land behind my closed eyelids.
How then do I hear it now, when
My eyes flutter, to the light of dawn?
Perhaps it’s the sound of a dream,
Seeping, into a new day’s light.

There are things I carry into the night,
Of all that goes on, during this day.
I wonder what it is that transformed
All that was dark, into joyous light.