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I Dream of Love

Babbling Brook, Budding Tree





The Bluebird sings a love song in spring,

wishing for one to join his heart in song and spirit.

There are days in life I wish I could be as simple and pure as that Bluebird,

singing songs of love and beauty for everyone to here and enjoy.


When I think of love and the joy it brings,

I hear the song of the siren, calling with its wicked curse.

Beckoning, beckoning, love draws me in even when it is false or worse.

Empty love is like searing hot coals, burning deep it leaves scars for life.

Empty love is like a bitter lemon, beautiful on the outside but stinging those who touch it.

Empty love is sad and dark and consuming.

Those who travel through empty love have been seduced by the sirenís song.


When traveling through the mountains, one hears the mountain winds.

They sing of love.

Their song is a mournful song.

Their song is a joyful song.

The mountains sing as the Bluebird sings,

Yet the mountains are not courting.

The mountains are remembering.

The mountains remember all love lost and achieved.

The mountain winds sing of all love through all time.


The mountain stream talks of how it longs for its love.

It talks of its love for the sea and the gifts it caries for its one true love.

The mountain stream talks of how it urns to be with the wide open ocean,

then it rushes of to be there.


I dream of love,

But I know not what it is.

I listen to the Bluebird but I do not understand his song.

I listen to the siren and am sucked into empty love and am lost.

I listen to the mountains and mourn the love lost and gone by.

I listen to the stream and dream of what I wish I had.

I dream of love.