What Comes Of Dreams

Oh, why so many dreams bestowed in young and tender years, fall into drifting dust decay then sadly disappear. Are dreams to blame for broken hearts and quiet hour’s remorse? Or is the dreamer born of guilt for veering from its course? Are dreams unfair for rising up to skies in brilliant hue? Perhaps they take no time for thought and ask too much to do. But would a dream be such a thing if every hand could reach? What treasure would it bring to bare? What lesson would it teach? Oh, grant I pray that I should never stand amongst the crowd, and watch with idle faithless feet while mundane cares enshroud. No, I will dare to dream above midst Heaven’s brilliant streams, and quiet vigil watch and keep til come… what comes of dreams.