Was it only a dream
That we should be?
In sorrow we forget;
In joy we remember
That indeed it is a dream.
But not merely,
Not of slumber.
A ballad sung
Here among the snowy pines
On the lap of a mountain
It echoes clumsily
Among the valley folk
Of the struggle
To turn an unconscious dream
Into a conscious dream.
Dusk approaches,
And I go to my cell
To sit very still
And remember!
