My Son’s Dreams?
I’ve often wondered what my son dreams of,
For he never tells, and I can only imagine.
The silver rays of the moon do weave,
Through golden shrouds of clouded eve,
Entwined with mists that softly gleam,
Bring smiles to his lips, in a gentle dream.
Laughter echoes in the night,
Winds whispering in their flight,
With perfumed scents of flowers fair,
From celestial ponds, they fill the air.
These breezes fan my slumbering boy,
In dreams so pure, in realms of joy,
Where flower nymphs on branches sing,
And bees hum songs that softly ring.
They whisper tunes to my sleeping son,
Of worlds unknown, in dreams begun,
Etched within his infant mind,
A treasure trove of a special kind.
The riches of the world are naught,
Compared to dreams his heart has caught,
Cool and mild, these dreams do wake,
A peaceful dawn, for my son’s sake.
