Whenever

Whenever of far away places i dream
The wild cry of the moorhen i hear in the stream
With a babbling tongue that is never still
That flows to the river down the fields by the hill

A voice of the river one should never get wrong
The dark brown white breasted dipper of the high pitched song
In my dreams often sing in the Spring of the year
Though in waking time him i may never more hear

Nostalgia for me is a thing of the past
Though of what used to be the good memories do last
And often i dream of the what used to be
And of the beautiful sounds and sights i did hear and see

The past it has gone like Autumn's last rose
And the now is all that does matter one has to suppose
But in my dreams above the brown mountain a tiny musical speck in the sky
The lark is singing as up to the gray clouds he does fly

Whenever i dream of the past i hear a male chaffinch sing
on a leafy birch tree in the prime of the Spring
When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
And the wildflowers adorn the old fields far away.