Nabokov’s Dream

 

I was home. I was peacefully dreaming:
You stood all alone by the porch,
And the Moon was viciously gleaming
Over you as a Byzantine torch.

And its flames exploded wildly,
As the ashes disorderly snowed,
And your smile was playfully hiding
Such a precious, fabulous world.

And you looked from an endless alley,
“Look at me, don’t stop!” I begged,
“I belong to your carefree valley,
Till the morning light comes back…”

…I don’t know what actually happened,
But I woke up with lachrymose eyes,
And my dream eventually blackened,
As you gleamed in the leaden-blue skies.

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