Notes About The Poem
This story is based on the nursery rhyme called, "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride." Picture courtesy of Bianca Van Dijk, at Pixabay
Do As You Wish
Andrew Morton was a dreamer, and had been one for quite some time,
Just as language had to dream awhile, before it'd learnt how to rhyme.
Andy often felt like a wishing well, for he had such hopes and dreams;
Like one caught between a midnight maybe, and the red sunrise theme!
He lived in the house that he was born, and it was a house that he loved,
In agate hours of someday; like a handshake with the future, ungloved.
His friends also felt the future was faceted, and held shades of promise;
Like fragrant flowers, moonlit, or sangria butterflies, asleep in calmness.
Flowers and fancy clouds, trended the pink fad, as feeling family visited;
In final days of fleet spring, when loitering on the green, was prohibited.
Andy lived in the house of yearning, like the good old days, lost forever;
Or saffron sun, which rises only for today, as garnet birds, sing altogether.
Silky were starry nights of yellow moon, in a soft, scented breeze sector.
On the street of fluttering surrender. Lovely nature could not be better!
Andrew's nice neighbors were old friends. Some had grown up together;
In the joyous, white noise of youth, making looking back, such pleasure!
'Safari sunset' blooms opened in winter, in contrast to 'snow in summer';
The first, deep red, burgundy, and wine-red, and the latter an ivory stunner!
'Silver lace' blooms made gowns for the moon, as 'star magnolias' sparkled;
And 'sweet woodruff' scented blue shade, when breeze blew, unmarshaled.
Andrew realized that his life had no direction, for wishes were not enough;
And that he needed definitive goals and plans, as wishes alone, are just fluff!
For it's the things you do as you're wishing, that can make them come true;
So, his studies grew more earnest, like earnest dawn, very violet, all through!
This big change in Andrew, marked the last stage of growing up, suddenly;
As summer matures to the eyes of gladness, before latter colors, turn funky.
'If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side.
If "ifs" and "ands" were pots and pans,
There'd be no work for tinkers' hands.'
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