à cause de

Your words,
live and paint the dreams I've had.
Not the ones of terrible travels (travails) my conscience takes me on at night;
O no, the beautiful ones
of stories of moraccan rugs,
Of days when the sky will sun or not sun in a rainy sort of fashion
and inspire those tableaux that hang on the museum wall,
My dreams of the stars that spice the best children's stories,
of wanderings paired by descriptions from dictionary pages-
their etymology calling me on like sirens in a greek sea.
oh...
and then I'm left writing a poem just to comfort me
without any senses made in it for others.

AAAAAND end scene!
I found this. an on line etymology dictionary! So that's good...