Therese Gramercy . . . the girl named Trees

Dream Ornament

Dream World

Walk down the lane,
the memory with me,
in the land of love,
the path of dreams,
where dusk and dawn
touch reality.

A lingering vision,
of love so sweet,
I awake to find
it was but a dream,
and I question myself
about what is real.

How do I believe
it was a dream in the night,
if the words of a poem
lay by my side,
its lilac love
entwined in my mind?

Was waking at sunrise
really the dream?
Or was the dream in twilight
actually real?
Are memories dreams,
or are memories real?

Should it even matter,
what is real or a dream,
whichever one
they may prove to be,
for in either world,
it is love that is real.