It was only a Dream....

I had my tiny bag
My tiny smile
My tiny world

I forgot my passport
And my ticket

I cried at the counter
And they let me go…
On a plane to Paris
With my dear old gardening friend

I was transported to a cottage garden
In a British town ….
And she picked me up in her groovy car
And we walked towards the installation
Of curves and lost voices
And we slowly lay down
As our bodies turn to clay

As we are transported back
But we know…
That a part of ourselves was left in the clay

We are not quite ourselves
We know…but no one else will know

That the truth…
Is that we are all clay….

In the end.