Last night I dreamed about you, your hair color with wheat. Riding on the mantle of the field, riding your white horse. In just seconds I remembered, your lips taste like honey, your kiss at dawn, waking many days you want. And what about your arms, holding strong now as beautiful mane of horse. That will be your hands, covering my eyes every evening. That will be touching your lips to mine, entertained us in the cold nights. Who will look up your eyes as the sun, tell me who. Who will be brave to take advantage of forgetfulness, so you swing on the wheat fields. Who will which will take advantage of solitude, which accidentally went for you.
In my eyes you spent on the back of your white horse, while your cheeks popping out, tears of disappointment. Fear?, "Sadness?," Grudge perhaps?. For a long time I walked in the footsteps of your horse, and get noticed, how hard it is to see on a tombstone your love away. Yes, last night I dreamed about you, your hair color with wheat. Honey taste your lips, your eyes at night, your soft hands on my skin. But no, wait, now I remember ... that was not a dream. For the dead do not dream, just shake to oblivion, all experienced, who hides in reality, after the total darkness. Thanks at least I, for my light in life, shines on you today.
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