Other strange dreams

by justbekozlowski

As I’m tied to my bed,
With a cold that just stinks,
Blowing my nose,
And drinking hot drinks.

I lie and remember,
The things that I’ve seen,
Other beds that I’ve lain in,
And other strange dreams.

Sometimes I’m asked
If I miss being away,
In my mind, I can travel back,
Every day.

If I want to remember
Running Catalan mountains,
I just close my eyes
And my brain is a fountain.

I can still feel the warmth
Of Italian piglets,
Nibbling my feet,
And trampling twiglets.

The places I wandered
When lost and quite drunk,
Are harder to remember,
But still can be thunk.

I suppose what I’m saying,
Is all of the places,
And all of the people,
With all of their faces;
I miss them all equally,
But not really a hair,
As when I close my eyes,
They’re all standing just there.

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