Our Dreams

It was hot summer year of a nineteen fifty three

I was walking in the wood which had tall trees

There was a big black rock on a bank of a river

She was sitting on a bank with few poems’ book

I was young with a dream of writing a little book

I was not hurrying without worry to read her look

There were little birds swimming in the near by brook

She noticed me looking at her serene look in the brook

I didn’t stand still and look around but went close to her

I said gently “Please, do your have a time to talk about reading”

She responded, “Now I have time to talk about your waiting”

We walk and talk, then agreed on writing a book of “Our dreams”