Page 24








In the springtime of my life

I started dreaming.

I dreamed of where I’d go

And what I’d do.

I dreamed of what I’d see

And what I’d build.

I dreamed of breaking free

- And setting out –

Upon my chosen path.


As the years went by

I fell behind

The pattern of my dreams.

But still they spurred me on

And I dared to keep on dreaming.

Even then I knew

That all men must have dreams

- For without them –

What is there to aim for.


Now in the autumn of my life

I dream again.

But these are different dreams:

Not dreams of the future

- Plans to drive me on –

But jumbled, muddled dreams

Of the distant past.


Dreams of what I’d seen

And what I’d heard.

Dreams of where I’d walked

And what I’d done,

As, bit by bit, my troubled mind

Seeks to make some sense

- Of all that’s gone before –

And made me who I am.