the Shel in me trying to get out?
I was having a picnic
One day with my Dream
I said, “You’re not as far
Away as you seem.”
He didn’t reply
As he lay in the sun.
Just out of reach
At a quarter past One.
When suddenly a herd
Of nasty Nay-Sayers
Went stampeding by
Like fat football players
They trampled my Dream
And laughed as they went
They left my Dream dirty
And mangled and bent.
Their taunts and their jeers
Rang so loud in my ears
Raising all of my doubts
And increasing my fears
And the sight of my Dream
All fractured and broken
Left me crying and small
With a despair unspoken
I thought, for a minute,
“What if my Dream died?”
I couldn’t just sit there
I have too much pride.
I’ll not let Nay-Sayers
Turn me ‘to a mourner
So I picked up my Dream
And I smoothed out each corner.
I ironed and I pressed
And I nursed it along
‘Til it was healthy again,
And vibrant, and strong.
Then the two of us smiled
And returned to our meal
“I’ll keep you safe,” I said.
Then we shook on the deal.
© Jeff Wilson, 2007
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