There was a girl who liked to dream.
Her dreams were nice and clear and real.
We all are dreamers so it
seems,
Not all the dreams are such a steal.
The girl dreamt many-many things,
Including princes on white horse,
And there was that amazing "prince",
In real life (not dream), of course.
She dreamt him left and right and through,
And up and down and around,
She dreamt of things that could be true,
Alone, her room, the city sounds.
"What if he cheats? What if he yells?
What if he doesn't love me much?
Will I be hearing church's bells?
Is he a charming jerk and such?
He must be this, he must be that,
Or maybe I'm completely wrong?..
He owes me much, he knows, I bet,
For all this time I've sung his song!
Let's see tomorrow, HOW he smiles,
When waving at me to say 'hi',
And if he shows a roving eye,
He is a fake, a cheat, a lie!.."
The "prince" did like the girl, of course,
He waved and smiled and dreamt, in essence.
But dreams are not the action course,
They are, indeed, the course of absence.