Dream Sense

In the tower of memory the frogs vanish
Poor creatures, extinct, so pale and wannish
Through pouring in, drip, drop, drip, drop,
The conscious mind doth never stop
Into unconsciousness we slip
To follow frogs and tadpoles glith.
And rounded up before a time
When Marcel found himself a mime.
What guttered pages are these read
With gallant thighs and Gildahead
Of me, my nonsense shall be said
Twas, terrible sense I made in bed.
And hopping still, though no-one heeded,
The frogs march on, forever leading
A whirling dervish passes by
And all at once we know that cry
A hiltered dragon, heaven scent
Was purposefully regiment.
I could not see if it was meant,
I only came here for the rent.
And what is this, oh me, oh my.
A fragrant merkin, passing by.