Are They Dying Or Blossoming? My Dreams. Poem by Rebecca Stansfield

Oh I remember when my dreams were still alive,
how daily you'd angel me and save my life,
but now out of the window looking-
thinking about my future-
and how birds outside it flies.
And now I'm looking and I'm wondering,
how as time that leaf falls from the ground,
and how I used to hear your voice some whistling,
whistling amongst every single sound.
Oh I remember when my dreams were still alive,
how daily you'd angel me and save my life,
but now I'm looking at the snow that's falling down,
topping my dreams with sprinkles of,
wet, miserable dripping, daunting sounds,
which sounds don't include your voice.