there is no one left inside to save

 

To Live in Your Dreams

 In the middle of August, a storm of great strength comes, 

the wind whistles, the birds warn, yet the old man hums; 

Sat across his garden with trees bellowing, 

his face serene with its lines mellowing, 

he fears not a thing, not what the storm shall bring. 

Staring into the puddle of water beside, 

he sees the reflection of roses, and then his beautiful wife; 

And all in the world, the wind, the whirl, ceases to be seen, 

for the ghost love of his life is now more than just a dream. 

She smiles at him, waves run across her face from the rain, 

but she is just as he remembered, she hasn’t aged a day,

thunder cackles above him, winds blow faster, 

birds fly away even farther; 

but all in the world, the wind, the whirl, has ceased to be seen, 

so of what importance is reality, when you can live in your dreams?