Nothing makes sense like sleep.
If you dream, the girl will come
and lie by you, as she was
at twenty, voice like a bird
just below the salt line
of the cognitive. In a yellow
pavilion on a field of deep grass.
Kyle Kimberlin
1/17/2007
Metaphor
Surely some revelation is at hand.
Metaphor 
Erik, I'm afraid my stuff is home grown. The stems and buds are pale, but the seeds are worth saving. The beautiful lines left anonymously are from Les Miserables.
She slept the summer by my sideShe filled my days with endless wonderShe took my childhood in her strideBut she was gone when autumn cameAnd still I dream she'll come to meThat we will live the years togetherBut there are dreams that cannot beAnd there are storms we cannot weather
I love the image of a yellow pavillion on a field of deep grass. Who writes your stuff?