Tonight, if you dream, dream deeply.
Forget the Horde, those memories weeping.
No terror this night, Bless You, breathe
the gentle air of your Dreamland, sleeping.
Ruler, you are the Queen or King,
it’s your command what things the Horde will bring.
Bid them bring the purest Sterling,
and weave it into Gifts for your Dreamlings.
They, this wretched Horde, all screaming,
lonely, desperate, their tear-stains gleaming.
Your Gifts accepted, smiles beaming,
though fierce, this Horde, they grant Peaceful Dreaming.
© CGT, 2017.
Good night, lovely stars.
Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.