Constance dreaming in a dreamless world,
the usual humdrum never bothering her,
buzzing, bleating, bloating and bleeding,
around her the world is decaying,
Constance dreaming of lush valleys dotted with
of butter colored skies that deepen to golden hue,
of oceans dipped in the bluest of blue,
around her a living and breathing world.
Constance dreaming of a world forgotten,
and in her silent repose she is smiling,
she sleeps with an innocence in a world of malice,
never waking but constantly dreaming.
-The Elusive Scribe 022313-