Dear Governor DeSantis

Last night I was in your head, as we slept, Remember the dream that you can't quite place? Where shadows of need through your mind softly crept, And strangers bore kindness with no hint of disgrace. You walked a street where no banners flew, No cheers, no chants, no cameras bright. Your hands were empty, your pockets bare, And hunger gnawed sharp in your middle there. A woman paused at a market stall, Her apron frayed, her face lined with care. She offered a loaf, though you had no coin, 'Take it, sir, there's enough here to share.' A child approached with a trembling hand, Pressing a dollar, though small was her frame. 'Here, mister, ' she whispered, 'we're all the same.' Her eyes held a truth no rhetoric could shame. Then faces gathered, a crowd unplanned, They gave and gave, though they had so little. Their voices rose in a tender demand: 'Feed the hungry, no matter their race.' You woke before you could speak their plea, But it lingers still in the light of the day. Do you wonder now at the cost of your fame, And the weight of the paths your choices now lay? Dear Governor, dreams are not idle things; They stir the heart where truths unfold. Last night, you saw what no title brings— A wealth far greater than power or gold. So remember the dream you can't quite place, Where hands reached out without disdain. You had no money, so we gave you some, To remind you of love that softens every Floridian's pain.