I’m not a writer and not a poet
But I would like to try
To write a beautiful story
About my dream in a midwinter night.
But first, I think, it will be mentioned
What «dream» as a word means:
It’s a world of tears, of hopes and fears.
There is so much that we share
That it’s time we’re aware.
So, my dream – it was fantastic!
It was a summer evening, the shadows
Were everywhere and the moon
Was shining like a silver balloon.
A fresh wind was playing with the stars,
The moths were flying like golden lights,
And a dew on an emerald grass
Was like a spring rainbow, bright.
The nightingales were warbling here,
The world was full of life.
And the flowers of different colours
Were dancing in the night.
And as for me, I’d like to say
That flying is a normal thing
For me in dream, but in such way!
It was unforgettable in this dream!
I had a magic turquoise scarf
And one had only to throw it
That I flew up as bird of paradise
To live in clouds, to swim in the air,
To see the wonderful sights.
But every happy moment in dream
Has always a sudden ending.
I heard my alarm clock, the time is over,
I know, I should get the loss over…
And, perhaps, one night again
Such a dream would come and then
I’d see this blissful magic world
And we, my dear child, would go
And try to fly like butterfly!
