The twenty-eight Day of May in the Year of our Lord 2010
13:34

When the sky turns into a steely gray
and you can no longer separate night from day.
Big drops fall from the sky,
and time seemes not at all to be passing by.

I can draw a sigh of relief-
a relief of course connected to the Beast.

For on theese lead gray days
the Beast retires to it´s cave,
to sleep there most of the day.

A thought still haunts my head on theese
dark gray days,a question that seems-
Of what does the Beast dream?

O Pray! What dreams swirls around in it´s head!
Of the spider making it´s web?Of foxes that are dead?

Of sunny days or starry nights,
of magpies big as kites?

Dreams that are not for You and Me
but only for thee-
O horrid Beast! Theese dreams are for you alone to feast!

Suddently a gentle stirr,
a movement of the whiskers-a tremble of the fur.
It looks at me eyes half closed,smiling,most content.
Yawns,and is back to dreamland sent.