I awoke in a field of purple white flowers,
At my feet they were sprouting for hours.
The moss, as a pillow, my dreams and my will,
Were still and mocked any such power.
The sun it was high, as noon to the sky,
Yet morning had heeded its call.
Time had no meaning, shallow waters were streaming.
As humming birds drank nectar and all.
The moon in the blue, the sun in the shade,
The ground it was spinning that day.
Instead of a step, I went back to bed,
And lied in the flowers and stayed.