Shrouded Dreams

Hauntingly, out of the shrouded mist, I heard the voice,

There, midst the damp morning caws, of the crows.

Strange how a feeling, can reach out and pierce,

A forlorn heart, and a sleepy brow.

Softly, sweetly, she sang my song, caressing me with desire,

Here in the vastness, of my lonesome dreams,

Hauntingly, effortlessly, you did light my fire.

Blowing gently, to fan the embers, through a misty screen.

Slowly a form takes shape, emerging as the sun does rise,

The mists receding back into the valley, from whence they came.

As quickly as the voice had come, it fades, yet the song still sighs,

Lingering in the breeze, the echo’s, of a shrouded dream.

Eric Valentine May1/04 ©