I can capturea bird’s flight,a mountain’s splendor,a tiger’s roar.My penmarks the crispwhite paperlike footprintson a snowy trail.

My dreamsare alive,and leapinglike sparksin my hands.To dream is to speaka thousand wordsand never speak at all.

In my dreams,I flylike anew bird,like the quietof the storm.The musicthat flowsfrom my eyesis like currentsof electricity,and it powers me,the dreamer of dreamsto live.