Helen Jane Long can take me to Dreamland.
Not that she bores me — quite the contrary:
Every night, she paints over my mind and
touches up dull with brightness and airy
glimpses of places I've never yet seen,
pictures of a world that needs to be true.
Through her work, she tells me she has foreseen
that not all is lost, the world can renew.
I need that in Dreamland, to not get lost
in crumbling mazes built on shifting sand.
The music guides as the border is crossed,
when Helen Jane Long takes me to Dreamland.
Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons
BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.
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