Just be still, and listen.
You might hear the creeping dreams.
The laughter of a restaurant,
The singing of moonbeams.
The beating of some great white wings
The lapping of the sea,
The dancing feet of festivals
The voice of you or me.

The whispering of fairies,
The wisdom of a bee
Returned from some great traveling
A honeyed odyssey.
The creak of wood
From boats bound out
To an orchard isle
The rain that should
Fall on your hood
If you were not to smile.

Listen for the sunset,
It has a distant roar
Or better yet the sunrise –
More like a gentle snore.
Listen for the cloud-borne host
As they weave their storms
Or listen to the softling sounds
Of the duvet, as it warms
The air around your drowsy
ears, and lets your dreams perform.