When I was a small child I often used to dream
Of someone reciting, ream after ream,
Of beautiful poetry, before never spoken,
But I could not remember, when I was awoken
The words that in sleep
Struck a chord in me deep.
Pencil and paper I would take up at night,
Hoping to wake up and turn on the light
To capture the words, in my dream softly spoken,
Never at the right time, was my dream ever broken;
This went on for so many years
Through times of joy and times of tears.
I wonder, what was my night visitors’ goal
In pouring these words deep into my soul,
Will they remain there, in limbo a while?
Waiting for the day of release, to beguile,
All those whose life may touch mine
Just for a fleeting moment in time.
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Jack