On a little boat

I believe we believed in dreams
Of whishes in the mourning, smoothening the elders
But time came by to take away
The blessing of a day

Raincoats became the weather
Ashes turned in wine
The foolish hopes of youngsters
Grew fur into the bark of trees

White circles drawn in clay
The face of our birth, a growing puncture
It rippled when we drank our tea
To match the world of flee