WEBVTT

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Here's a poem I
wrote in my sleep.

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I dreamed it.

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And I was with my mother
in a big walled garden,

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like a cool park where I was
once, where Yeats and Lady

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Gregory used to stroll.

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The butterflies-- I woke--

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I just dreamed it
and wrote it down.

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The butterflies are
yellow, yellow, yellow.

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Red is the throat of the bird.

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What is behind the wall, wall?

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What is behind the garden wall?

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Then I woke up.

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