O dream, is this your quiet end we see, 

With shadowy sheets that cover all we knew? 

Dark, shining lips purse in final decree, 

Pointy ears prick skyward, bidding adieu.

 

Corn stalks stand, pondering the night's last gleam, 

Silent fields murmur, a soft, mournful sound, 

In streams where bream lie belly-up, we dream, 

Of days unbroken, where hope still is found.

 

Yet in your passing, dreams are not all lost, 

For in the dawn, new visions softly tread, 

And though we ponder what this night has cost, 

We linger in the twilight, thoughts unfed.

 

O dream, though shadows mark your twilight call, 

New dreams will rise, and we shall dream them all.