Last night,
I dreamed about riding in a wooden boat,
on a very calm lake,
on the top of it we are afloat,
the voyage was light,
we felt safe taking the route,
we laughed just right,
on the coldest time,
we're given winter coats,
after some hours,
here comes night
as we sleep so tight
after being lulled by the cicadas’ notes,
and when the morning comes,
we feel so glorified being embraced
by the sunlight's oath,
yet days passed by,
we felt the loath,
repetitive are the times
that we felt like the boat
was already like a cage
dragged by a brainless goat,
and inside the cage,
we saw ourselves as the moth,
stupidly flying,
as if we're already ghosts,
we look back at the wherry,
and tracing back on we're we've come from,
and we found out that on our way here,
we had already lost,
immediately taking the paddle,
I turned utmost,
I struggle at first,
but had managed to find our way
towards the coast,
seeing the new post,
I felt the upcoming tidal waves of hardships
was screaming at us and making a boast,
yet we still transferred on a bigger ship,
and did not bother to look back
on the wooden boat.
