Thoughts, and then, A DREAM

THOUGHTS

Story telling is an organic process, at least as far as I define it.  I can outline all day long, but when the actual story telling begins and words meet paper, it has to flow or there is no reason.  When I wrote the poem below, it was just cute and was never meant to have any real meaning.  Now, fifteen years later, I find meaning there I never intended.  I like to think this makes it a good poem .  and it is, at least to me:).  Judge for yourself and leave comments!

A DREAM

I dreamt of you
Last night my friend.
We sand and we spoke,
We laughed and we joked,
We passed on the hours
While Mr. Sun sank
Beneath a field of large, yellow flowers.

Stories we told
Of the good times of old,
Like the tale  of a ship
On the briny sea.

And if you remember,
A giant bee
Had stolen our soap
And we thought we would choke
From the stench emitted by we.

Or the tale of the well
(And we saw who fell
From top to bottom fastest,
Didn’t we?)

Yes, through it all
My friend,
The dream was of you,
And in the end,
Of what a great friend should be.