For the Slightest Chance of a Dream
And she was sleeping, like a baby
Her untied, long hair was touching her face
And there, she was lying in a deep, deep sleep.
I was not sure if she was allowed to dream
As she was pushed an injection to force the sleep
And she was lying unconscious in a deep, deep sleep
I still hope and pray for the slightest chance of a dream
That, yet her sleep can afford, all for a greater good, there.
The other day, I found a bookmark in her book, that I was reading
A dried leaf, which reminded me of those days of colors, of distant past.
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