Sweet dreams are made of this, to quote the song.
A poem about such things.

A wise man told me once
that dreams are not what mattered,
that in the cold daylight
they easily were shattered.
But he said that if this happened
I should pick them up
those fragments found
and brew them
in my favourite cup,
and drink them
with an open mind.

At night, he said,
your dreams will come again,
re-arranged and re-ordered
like a new and long lost friend,
and he said,
those gems will still be there,
the things you thought you’d lost
and longed again to see,
will help you start new dreams
and face whatever comes to be.

FGDavis 2010/13.


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