Brocaded wings of fancy whims,
Flutter in ardent breeze.
Myriad dreams adorned in themes,
Waft through distant leas.
Fantasy weaves each fervent dream,
With rainbow hues and love.
Flowing through each swirling stream,
That hails from lands above.
A land of bliss, no hatered calls,
No agony and no dread.
A land of elegant talking dolls,
And angels feeding bread.
Fruits on trees can laugh and talk,
Birds can sing around.
Trees with stems can jump and walk,
And stride across the ground.
The brooks and streams with golden fish,
Coruscate lights of hope.
Effacing misery and anguish,
They hurl out glints of scope.
Fancy lands with bliss and mirth,
Filled in ebullient thoughts.
Lies within our mortal earth,
Not in surreal plots.
Each tinge of a dream that we weave,
Dwells inside the mind.
Fancy whims our brains conceive,
No one could ever find it.