Let deep love be my pillow, 'til all the nights are gone,
but, oh, I should not dare to tell the dream;
And let yours be the shadow I drift to sleep upon,
while poppy-children dust the pale moon's beam.
Then let me see the fountain, where wishing coins lie deep,
that all my secret longings may come true,
And let me climb the mountain, into the vale of sleep
for, oh, a drowsy sense of love and you.
If wishes were all poppy-dust, and dreams were growing free
I wouldn't wish for wealth, nor precious jewels,
I'd run and gather baskets-full of love for you and me,
and leave the rest for misers, and for fools.
by
Shirley Frances Winskill 1997
