My lady sleeps with dreams of summer crops
beneath the old apple tree, now barren.
I listen to her breathing, her heartbeat I imagine
like the sound old trains made on victorian railroads
My lady shines with crown of purest gold
and to the light reflected by her pearls
She adds the magic beam of her blue stars
and the breathtaking silver of her soul
My lady in her sleep is without tears
Her dreams sustain her through the valley of sorrow
I listen to her breathing dissipating her fears
and I guard her sleep - none was ever most dear
for I know this to be but a moment I've borrowed
and the end of these dreams can be nothing but near.
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