E’er love of one and one, and each of both
Hath spoken afore, betwixt, and with
Ran ‘crost shimmery wheat, fields of May
Ne’er measuring breadth, nor width
I awakened one night from a dream in which I’d written a beautiful poem– of a type that I’ve never even learned to write; I know nothing of poetry types, nearly illiterate in that regard. It went on for pages, in my dream. By the time I was able to write any of it down, this is all that was left, most of it guessed at as I tried to remember. As best I can figure, it was about a love from a past life, rediscovered in a present life. Or maybe I just ate something weird before bedtime.