Dream

My dream is soaring very high,
I see it somewhere in the sky,
It is neither pink nor grey,
It is real, though it has a bloom in May.
My dream is inside of me,
Or maybe it climbs up the tall and evergreen tree
Or it is in withered flowers
Which are not deprived of vital powers.
If I find its disappearance,
I will change my views
And even outward appearance.