Poem 72 of 230: MILLENNIUM DREAMS
We can control our day’s thought,
But not our sleepy night’s dream.
My dreams, these nights, are of this sort:
Red earth; tanned grass; gums by a stream.
I’ll do my bit from Manchester,
But, if again in Australia,
I’m sure like this I’d fondly dream:
Snow on swans; willows by a stream.
