Wispy dreams are wistful things,
flying on the morning's wings;
little hints of times and places,
words,and half-remembered faces.
Is this all some trick of chance -
or some other-worldly dance ?
Even though we can't recall
music from the Dreamers' Ball,
when least expected, it may drift -
through the mind - a secret gift -
a soft reminder coming through,
like a touch of deja vu.
Memories of melodies,like a misty rain may fall,
whispering in reveries, music from the Dreamers' Ball.
Fading dreams are wispy things,
flying on the morning's wings,
receding with the ebbing tide,
mystic scenes that dart and hide -
behind the screen of memory's wall -
lost scenes of the Dreamers' Ball.
Every fragile dream come true,
every touch of deja vu -
courts us like an old romance,
when the heart and soul could dance.
We are - more than we recall -
dancers at the Dreamers' Ball.
Memories of melodies, like a misty rain may fall,
whispering in reveries - music from the Dreamers' Ball.
(©-1996-Betty Curtis-"Future Folk" Music)