Position:Home>Poetry> Are dreams really worth remembering ?

quiet dale shrouded by mourning fog
solitary mighty oak stands alone
in silent vigil, waiting, marking time
another changing of season has arrived

boughs beaten by strife, yet unbowed
testing impossible everlasting strength
ignoring truth, daily waiting, hoping
an unforgotten angel’s figure to again emerge

he has trod a worn, winding, questing path
a figure scared by time, nearly unknown to all
soul denuded, striped bare of autumn cloaks
no breeze shall disturb weary slumber dreams

an autumn day like this, so very long, long ago
gloriously misty, peacefully still with chill
she came to him along the path, smiling
took his hand, led him from the oaken shadows

she spoke of dreams without fears
joys, possibilities of living a life to come
unlocking chains, cold bindings of his soul
holding him with her warmth through chilled night

day's first light found her arising, leaving
nary a whisper nor look, quietly she stole away
each day at dusk he walked to this spot
her promise recalled, engraved within his soul

alone in the dark, he waited for her return
sighing, settling down beside the mighty oak
he spoke often as if she was there
he heard her musical replies in the breeze

fifty-eight spent years, waiting, never yielding
sorrow held at bay from memories of long ago
sixteen years now, the dreamer was laid to rest
beside the feet of the mighty oak, waiting

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