Crystal clear are visions in my dream,

Of summers long past and winters' flowing streams.

When morning comes they leave with grace,

Fading quickly without a trace.



And still one dream eludes me not,

of my youthful follies and dreadful plots.



My legs tread softly and take me back,

to a lush green forest foolish hearts will flock.

And by a river bed we halt to sleep,

Where the fern grows wild and still waters run deep.