Too Old for Those Dreams
I got there across wide-open fields
in early morning summer sunlight
when mists covered the dew grass.
When it was good, when I was young.
Now I grow older and this world
seems to grow too tired of me,
telling me I shall not dream again
and I am too old for that now.
But still those women come,
dancing through my dark nights
to take me by the hand once more
leading me out into that summer,
across the wide-open waiting fields
where morning mists cover the dew
and the day waits, there, just for us
to take and hold it close once again.
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