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Land of the Dreamer

Butterflies flutter near the leaves on the trees,
Their direction is altered by a warm Autumn breeze,
And the fallen leaves rustle, scurrying around
Like the squirrels who gather what is found on the ground.
 
It’s a daydreamer’s day, footloose and free,
For the poet, the jester, or the dreamer to be.
The Sun creates lances that dart from the sky
Piercing the shade trees, then left there to die.
 
There is a brook in the woods that trickles, so right,
Lending sound to a vision in the Day Dreamers sight
And all of life’s cares become buried this side
Of the Land of the Dreamer and the carpet they ride.
 
I shall join in those dreams, that once I would shed,
Those visions of fancy, for a daydreamer’s bed.
A bed made of clover, under a wide Oak tree,
Is where my carpet departs and my eyes close to see.
 
D.   Thurmond– 01-14-2014
Revised in 11-2015
From my poem of 1985
                                                     named “Buried This Side”

A follow-up poem to "The Dreamer's Bed". --- Original poem's name, "Buried This Side".
I wrote this poem in 1985, rewrote in 2014, revised and renamed in 2015.

#AboutAndAndDreamsHisLifeOfPartsThisWriter

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