Sandcastles Below the Waves

This dream is cold, and I am afraid of the dark. Youth's summer was gone and I viewed The yearning soul of solitude. The frozen lake; the stars and flowers Little white flowers that all were ours In fantasy only-when I was young And spoke sweet the nectar's tongue. We never speak. Did we speak before? I dream, I dream of you now the more That buried are years of absence From one I prayed to be my prince. On the bosom of the dream, I rest- And death becomes a welcome guest. Gladly entombed i...