dreams and songs

had a dream as a young boy
of a homestead at four grand
rocky slopes down to the desert
rugged peaks on either hand

I dreamed of making music
of writing hard back books
watching critters splash
in my pond fed by a brook

but dreams are meant
to be put to bed, aren't they?
what I've sown is what I get
and no regrets, most days

I had a song in my head
no one could ever sing it all
a never ending music meant
to catch those who fall

looking for a singer
who has a counter melody
one who could weave in my story
and sing it all with me

but songs are meant
to be put to the test, aren't they?
what I've sown isn't what I get
most days, with some grace

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