Whenever

Whenever of far away places i dream The wild cry of the moorhen i hear in the stream With a babbling tongue that is never still That flows to the river down the fields by the hill A voice of the river one should never get wrong The dark brown white breasted dipper of the high pitched song In my dreams often sing in the Spring of the year Though in waking time him i may never more hear Nostalgia for me is a thing of the past Though of what used to be the good memories do last And often i dream of the what used to be And of the beautiful sounds and sights i did hear and see The past it has gone like Autumn's last rose And the now is all that does matter one has to suppose But in my dreams above the brown mountain a tiny musical speck in the sky The lark is singing as up to the gray clouds he does fly Whenever i dream of the past i hear a male chaffinch sing on a leafy birch tree in the prime of the Spring When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May And the wildflowers adorn the old fields far away.