Will you dance in the night, my queen?
Twist and twirl to the wind in the stars?
The galaxies all open in welcome;
to be led in the dance, and be led in the dream.

While you are there, what will you do?
Will you cry with the moon, tell him your fears?
And when you will raise in the morn,
will your face be dried of its tears?

The slow sinking sun, turns my tarnished armor to chrome;
your tattered white robe is once again made whole.
For your journey my horse, your protection my bow,
And as you dance, and I follow, where will you go?

Your gown is a ruslin', I watch as you leave,
go far from your body out into the eve.
Leap up on the moon, dance a rockets red tail,
strive to go forward, and swear never to yield.
(as wise Tennyson said to Ulysses, while knelt on his shield)

And when you arrive, in this place, in this dream
forget me not my sweet princess, for I'm here all the time,
sometimes but a shadow, a voice in the dark
or even a picture, framed in your mind.

Your dreams don't cut short, as finish they must;
the things that you see, even though they are rushed,
and entangled, and barbed, and covered with thorns;
they come from you heart, and in them must trust.

For behind all the thorns, those cracked, piercing, sharp;
a perfect rose lies, still waiting in the dark.
It must have been there forever, (or a moonlife at least),
stuck fast in your heart, and yearning for life.

To pick the rose, and reach through the thorns,
risk being alone first thing in the morn.
In your heart you must trust, for all that you need,
Go to this dreamland, for there will I be.

'Tis said dreamers never lie, and this creed I find true.
Despair not sleeping princess, and hear what I say:
if you don't dream, your dreams can't be broken
but if you don't dream, these dreams can't come true.

For Carolyn

(c) Alan Bailward, February 1997