A Dream
Once upon a time, a dream was a dream.
locked up in my mind, left cold and unseen.
Years have passed many a moon,
night-n-gales whistled many a tune.
...and the stars swing low through the midnight glow
...and the angel sings as she folds her wings
...and all these memories draw back these dreams.
Some of new and some of old,
some of coals and some of gold.
The work, the play of each new day,
The sun that sparkles or the clouds of gray.
Who knew that dreams come when you pray?
From the first breath to the last breath,
and the ones in between
bring you lines of joy
like the sweet wine that is aging.
My maker says "reason" with me,
He has called me out by name.
Leading me where there is no sorrow,
brining me home where there is no pain.
Copyright © Crista Gorman | Year Posted 2011
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