Banking Dreams

shards

of thieves and bards

drifting through

the thee and you

resting upon

my waking head

like morning dew

as I lay in bed

I rise and try

to set aside

sweet drops

on mental grass

as banging bunny bops

and crooked lying cops

distract me from

the urgent task

is it god's tax

or workman's ax

that try to snatch

the nightly catch?

Do memories

belong to me

or to the trees

that drink my dreams?

Or both?

The shadows grow

in comfort's shade

and new thoughts fade

as chores dismay

the coming day

in us there's growth

and dew will flow

to paper blank

our mental bank

a treasure stowed.