Dreams - Edit 1.0

[busker]

Dreams

Dreams are told -
ink on reams
of paper cold

come autumn. Trees
leak colours bold
in tannin streams.

Leaves turn gold.
I grow old in dreams.


Original: 

The poet told 
of love in reams
with fingers cold

come autumn. Trees
leached colours bold
into tannin streams.

As their leaves turned gold
I grew old in your dreams.