What you can see in raw light is more than a wishful thought,
A mere bribery of the mind and a dream never sought.
The yellow bulb is no light by itself but it gives
The thought you can see, in what stays, in what lives.
Over sea the moon is a lamp but it’s only reflecting the Sun.
Hear the sound of the night and the song of the birds:
Memories shared, told with no words.
A fine day it was when the light has been kind,
Morning and evening, thoughts like flames of the mind,
Pictures were taken and now all is done,
Everyone’s sleeping. The shadows move on.
Raw light is fading as hours go by,
Emerging – the dreams, like birds – how they fly.