It's strange how nightmare times can turn into the stuff of dreams

And how in the pitch black of nighttime something brighter gleams.

Sinking back beneath the duvet, my tired head welcoming the pillow

I seemed to see another life and hear the sound of leather on willow

 

Through closed eyes helped by the shade of a tightly drawn-down blind.

I saw the images of the scenes I once knew - and the folk life left behind.

The sun was high in a clear summer sky and the murmur of quiet voices

Came like the notes of a much loved song from whence the heart rejoices.

 

White-clad figures around the tree-lined circle of verdant village green

Like ghosts they floated to and fro in a young world that once had been;

The only world I knew and cared about in those far-off childhood years -

 And the vision of those dream-filled days stimulated sudden tears

 

They trickled down from beneath closed lids and stroked my aged face

As the realisation woke me to the fact that I'd long lost time and place;

Reality and retreating dream merged as one to turn my face into the pillow

To stem the pain I felt losing that world...and its sound of leather on willow.

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