I dreamt I had a silver sponge —
I held it in my hand;
I stood where jet-black rivers plunge
into transparent land —
I dreamt I saw a shepherd’s hut
on velvet mountain pass;
The windowpanes were solid rock;
the walls of clearest glass —
I brushed past curtains made of stone,
and when I’d entered in,
I met a horrid man of bone
whose teeth were made of skin.
He handed me the silver sponge —
at once I was transported
into a place where muskellunge
and wolverines cavorted.
I dreamt I had a silken sword —
I woke, and I had none —
And so I wandered out the door
And melted in the sun.