诗歌只是一种逃避，是生活之梦中的梦想，是生长在我们麦田里的野花。
Poetry is a sort of truancy, a dream within the dream of life, a wild flower planted among our wheat.
他们不是梦想家；他们正从一个即将变成梦魇的梦中醒来。
They are not dreamers; they are the awakening from a dream that is turning into a nightmare.
当我想要拯救这个梦想的时候，我一下子意识到除了让她经常成为我的梦中人以外，我却束手无策。
When I want to save it, I found all of a sudden that there remains nothing I could do but make her a frequent visitor of my dream.
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