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Ако някой можеше да рисува твоите стихове щяха да се получат прелестни картини!

HALF-SLEEPING
(IN A SLUMBER)


Today I'm a dream, that has been dreamed by someone
it has been incomplete , mysterious - a slumber
suspeciously coloured and smiling quite wide
but somehow it's happened to look like true sight...

And there I walk - along on the beach
and doves are a-rising from my steps and each...
each one of them flying, each one of them leaves
a line under blue sky , a flight under eaves...

Then the winter is over - so suddenly
and the summer is back in December
and the sea is like tinkering glass
full of freshness of spring - so much tender...

And the one who's been dreaming about me
slips his hand into my real hand
and then asks me if I've seen around him
if we can be happy - in this very land...

And then he wakes up... and he's smiling
it is summer out, although it is December
in his day - he is calm and he's striding
down on a bridge he's found...to my own gender....

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Пък поезията е като рисуването, само че с думи