A miniscule figure
Sack slung upon his shoulders
Tenders quietly into my dream
An all - eyes countenance
Eyes - shimmering with mirth and gaiety
A wicked smile above a crooked chin
Protruding belly concealed behind a broad red belt
The Rumplestilskin sits cross - legged on the floor
And casts out the contents of the sack
Colorful cubes and spheres of dreams
Dreams, dreams
Enigmatic dreams
He plays with them with such relish
Bored with the game now
He puts them back and retreats
Dreams, dreams
Enigmatic dreams
Confined in the little imp's sack
Perish long before they shape up.

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