Such Should Be the Color of Real Dreams

On a serene Autumn night when the waning moon hangs in the middle of the murky sky, it seems a huge yellow balloon; stardust falls as pollen from flowers around the pound, and it doesn't pelt as rain, but make a cascading sound... every shadow vanishes along with the owls' cry. Bedazzled, I hold out my anxious hands to catch that shower of light gold, and it falls gently as transparent raindrops bouncing only once, then settling as sand after a whirlwind lasting the briefest second; so heavy it becomes, that I let some escape without reluctance: spreading it on the leaves of the scented spruces that attract moonbeams... a thought comes to me, " Such should be the color of real dreams!