The veil is torn
as soon as the lights of the sunset
they die out.
The little bodies light up
after the summer breeze
start to blow.
The small procession
continues its march
until dawn,
until the end of the dream.
Poem (C): Me
“A World” (C): Maximilian Lenz
“Midsummer Eve” (C): Edward Robert Hughes
“Spirit of the Night” (C): John Atkinson Grimshaw
