Dragonflies

I ran and ran and ran and ran away,

the summer was a canvas in my eyes.

He stood behind so tall and watched me play,

beneath the golden net of dragonflies.

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They flew so low at dusk as rain would fall,

with sleepy eyes of bronze and wings of glass;

He waved his hands against the ivied wall,

my feet were buried in the moistened grass.

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He played a willow leaf, a funny tune,

and I would sing along the stranger song.

A mix of wine and fruits – the scent of June,

to linger in my hair, a dream so long.

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I thought the dragonflies would never die,

but little did I know that dreams could lie.