In Dreams

There are flowers in France
that smell sweetly upon a winter morn;
a hint of a whisper of a spell
of honeysuckle, sandalwood and rose.
Grey and mellow and lost in time
the ghosts of his scent find me
upon a winter morn:
alone and in my dreams.
The stray caress of a willow branch
touches fleetingly through my mind:
sighing drops of the aching rain
falling in my dreams.
These wet and lonely and disturbing days
have a stranglehold on my thoughts.
I am agitated and still in hopeless wonder
and all through the darkness I see myself:
falling in my dreams.
And all the time the rain like love:
falling in my dreams.
And all the hope in all my heart:
falling in my dreams.
Falling in my dreams.