Poem about crushed dreams
Tis a pretty thing to glean a dream,
to reach out to touch it and see its reflection;
like streaming waters rushing over rugged round boulders;
like a spirit willingly giving its life.
Mine eyes doth look upon thy spirit,
what type of spirit are thee;
to catch mine eye with thine radiance and power,
to shimmer sunshine, the orb's light in multitude.
Fragile yet strong amongst the fearful of doubts.
I reach, my hand but a grasp away,
feeling thy radiance and power like the warm light of day.
But oh i do fall in dismay
my glean, my spirit, taken away
to fall into that which should not hold,
a darkness of which is much too cold.
Hands that should not have touch of thee;
that should not kill thy will easily
to crush a spirit tis a dreadful woe,
a dream, a glimmer, but naught to sew.