Dreams I Had Forgotton
You are made of dreams I had forgotten
long ago when perhaps I was foolish,
and quite naive, still young enough to wish
upon fleurs in a field not yet trodden,
and asking favors from a shooting star;
I grew up waiting answers from afar.
I chose a road of curiosity
and sweet adventure traveling solo
lest I become encumbered and so slow
that mundane life would gain velocity,
leave me in a mire of ordinary;
so it did when I became unwary.
Now suddenly you reappear: my dream,
my wish, my favor from a shooting star.
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