Last night I had the strangest dream

That I have ever dreamt,

There was a poetry recital

Up in Heaven, and I went.

Among the poets taking part

Were Shakespeare, Keats and Poe,

Paterson and Lawson

And some I did not know,

The recital started beautifully

As Banjo read his work

About the ‘Man From Snowy River’

And ‘The Stockyards West Of Burk’,

Then Henry Lawson took the stage

With his tales of city streets,

And then in turn came Byron,

Edgar Allen Poe and Keats.

Then Shakespeare read his sonnets,

Kipling read his prose

While Wordsworth read of life and love

And the beauty of the rose.

I sensed my turn was coming

And my spine began to freeze,

How could I recite my gibberish?

To poets such as these

Afraid to take the rostrum

In such awesome company

I hid my work behind my back

So no one else could see,

But Banjo stood behind me

And snatched it from my grasp

He said, “ I think it’s just as well,

That we saved you till last”,

I begged him to return it,

But he gracefully declined,

He said, “ I think you aught to read it,

After all I read you mine”,

Then sensing I was nervous

He whispered in my ear,

“If your words were written from the heart,

Then you’ve nothing more to fear”,

“For each of us are equals

When we commence to write,

And your words will be as well received,

As any here tonight”,

With that I found my courage,

And climbed the rostrum stairs,

To recite Essex, Then Elizabeth,

With such dramatic flair

Then lightening the atmosphere

I read my final two,

‘The Felling Of A Tree’

And the one I called ‘Home Brew’.

Well the crowd were in an uproar,

They laughed, they clapped, they cheered,

And I fancied that in Shakespeare’s eye

Was the forming of a tear,

I gave a bow and took my leave

To rapturous applause,

Then woke to find myself in bed

But what a dream that was.

By S.E.Ralph

24-11-2011