Late last night,
When the day was done,
And the dawn had not yet seeped
Into the sky in its flush and blush,
I got a mead of sleep:
Sleep elusive, sleep delusive,
A mead of gracious sleep.
What if reality is but a dream?
Hope it is not unpleasant;
Or, if it lingers on awakening,
Hope it will be deleted from
The scroll of complex memory,
The unread lore of amnesia,
The unread text of oblivion.
- - - - -
5 March,2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem