Could these be bold Pirate ships, I see, Through a strange mist, rolling from the sea? Could these be alien space-ships, I spy, High up in the deep-blue arc of the sky? Could these be quaint fairy-folk, perchance, Flitting through the trees in a merry dance? Could these be illusions, not quite what they seem? Could these be, only, a mystical dream?
Illusions
Greta M. Sears