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There is a white horse on the vale,
  where it oft go and play,
  and eat heaven honey a plenty 
  through its sleepless hallowed gate;
  the ponies watch and prance
  and dance, and never wander afar,
  for they see the good of it,
  when they answer my beckoned call
  
I feel from a home inside me,
  a place for love and holly,
  (this very white horse I dreamt)
  was heavenly sent ---
  and for all, this white horse doth come,
  from the bosom of God,
  with every soul's name etched on its sides;
  and when I awoke it was all a dream,
  but was it a dream? ---
  I asked myself at last,
  shall an experience of any kind be fiction,
  in its marrow and left impression---
  be unworthy of reality? 

I do not know for absolutes sake ---
  claim this white horse 'exists'
  but it is pleasing more perhaps,
  to dream it real,
  for this waking world ---
  with its sometimes infinite despair
  (makes far less sense)
                   ~~~
There is a white horse on the vale,
  and when I called it came...
  and he helped me up,
  and rode me from harm's way;
  that's why the ponies watch and prance
  and dance, 
  and see the good of it...









****A dream within a dream I had****

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