What do you see?

What do you see when you dream? An old, familiar face, Or a long forgotten scene? Just before that moon does fall, Is it locked in memory That dream you hope to recall? So easily they're misplaced, Lost within the fog of life By which waking hours are traced. Then, as the day's moving on, The fog rolls both in and out And finds a place to belong. Oft' in age they're hard to find; Slipping quietly away, Disappearing far behind. One should have written them down, Captured, then, throughout that youth So they could always be found. And what of those dreams gone by? Do you lay awake at night Wond'ring what you've seen and "why"? Or do you slip back to sleep, To go looking for something Which your memory might keep?