I input some of J.R.R. Tolkein's style, a tad of Stephenie Meyer's, and some of my own unique style. I used as much imagery as possible.
A Harpist Dream
If all my hopes and dreams came true,
What a harpist I would be!
I see the vision clear as river blue.
I’m reaching out to take my degree:
“Master of Music: Harp” it says.
I feel so happy and so free.
Then the scene changes.
I find myself in my studio,
Teaching precious Guinevere, my beautiful little girl.
I help her put her little hands upon the harp,
Place her fingers on the strings,
And play a little tune.
The scene changes again.
I sit upon the stage in all my glory,
A million starlights all among me.
I wear the midnight sky upon my dress,
My hair is long and curled;
The sparkle of passion is in my eyes.
I pull the harp back, place my fingers on the strings,
And from them gently flows:
A nightingale of melody.
Soon I’m lost among the music,
Flying with the notes and song.
A Wedding Dream
If all my hopes and dreams came true,
A beautiful bride would I be!
I see the vision clear as crystal sea.
I stand upon the altar, dressed up all in white:
A vision of beauty am I.
As I take my wedding vows,
I say“ I do” and the tears begin to fall.
I’m not proclaiming sadness, but unrestraining joy.
To be here with my one true love
And all the others whom I love.
I smile through my clear glass drops,
And throw my bright bouquet into the crowd
To a lucky woman’s hands.
A Children Dream
If all my hopes and dreams came true,
A little boy and girl I’d have.
I see the vision clear as glassy pool.
I’m rocking little Guinevere
And little Edward, too.
I put them in their beds,
We all say prayers and say goodnight.
I sing to them till their little eyes are shut with sleep.
My husband takes me by the hand as the children fall asleep.
We smile at them and walk out of the room;
Leaving our children to sleep.
Answer :
...Wow, is all I can say. I could never write anything as beautiful as that. ;)
With holiday read in hand I lie
in a neglected sun-baked garden,
dotted with drooping daises
and dandelion clocks.
As a constant reminder that this is Greece
nearby stand gnarled silver-green olive trees
the epitome of history and peace.
Behind me is a crumbling white-washed wall.
Cascades of white roses tumble like
a waterfall down its face filling the air
with a rare and delicate perfume.
In the distance comes an insistent
coo of a dove
from the fir-clad hills above.
Its call creating a soothing counter-melody
to the noisy sparrows,
gossiping and fighting in the fruit-free trees.
So clear in the sky, as if just created,
I see Mount Olympus, home of the gods
in the majestic white clustering clouds,
painted on a canvas of an unreal blue.
Its hue reflecting the turquoise serenity
of the timeless Aegean Sea.
Across my vision swifts persistently swoop,
their flight an erratic dart and dive,
like paper aeroplanes tossed by a carefree child.