The Dream - What could it mean? - By Stephen Ross

I woke up this morning, with a dream in my head

A row of straight houses, faces angled with dread

With the exception of one, a most beautiful sight

not quiet in dead centre, rather off to the right

A curved yellow cottage, with hazel windows of pine

Inside a robin red breast, was gently drinking some wine

I'd been down this road, several times here before

So why had I never noticed it, so colourful and unexplored.

The name on the doorstep said welcome, please no boots

I began to get excited, my heart raced like chaotic flutes

I pressed upon the knocker, it gave way unexpectedly

Soft, smooth and silky, not taught and stiff like me

Instead of a door knob, this door was quite weird

threads of delicate cotton, bristled up as I neared

The cotton door prised open, as I caressed its pink lock

A crack gave way gently - Screams, Oh yes! I should certainly have knocked

A light oozed from the hallway, windows shattered with sounds

As I crept gingerly forward, terrified by what I might find.

As I peeked round the corner, a most interesting sight

The red breasted robin was having a fight

I watched with amusement and particular glee

As the bird manoeuvred skilfully upon a blue tree

The branches swung wildly wrapping round robins trunk

As the leaves scattered gracefully, leaving puddles of junk

The two combatants done fighting, collapsed in a heap

Wrapped round one another, no longer able to leap

Having enjoyed the drama, and understanding it dead

I crept from the house, and woke up in my bed.