The Dreamcatcher

Theres a silken something, strung across the bamboo
that Ive found with the dawn's first light
As frail as a life hanging heavy with dew
like a string of choice pearls sparkling bright.

A master weaver's work of art, and yet so miniscule
a dreamcatcher of silver thread, spun when the darkness rules
And as the morning yawns a smile, and dreams condense onto
this dreamcatcher, encharmed silk web, like diamonds made of dew

These dreams by mortal creatures spun, under the cover of sleep
some made of fancy or sheer delight, some fears or mystery
some stray daydream, upon the wing of some lose butterfly
might find itself umong its strings as it was wandering by

Until the nymphs with amber hair, and rainbow wings descend
this silken stair adorned with dreams spun by the daughters of men
These afrodiasics ride the wind, and pluck the lazy dreams
and carry away illusions to, some secret place, it seems

Yet some have said that when a nymph, forgets a drop of dew
that stray pearl lost, or left behind, becomes a dream come true...