My Garden of Dreams
And when at last I sleep,
I see my garden of dreams.
Perfect in form and grace,
Beyond all words to describe
Upon waking, the blossoms are blown away,
Only pale, mute images remain.
Old eyes and hands, and a lack of skill,
Make my garden remain forever in dreams.
For I am a dreamer of fanciful dreams,
but lack the gift to make them come true.
Many years have passed, and now, skillful artistic hands,
Helped make my dream a reality.
Working for many months, often far into the night,
Striving to capture my elusive vision.
"Look" Today, behold it in all its beauty,
The symmetry of perfect form.
A symphony of elegant stitches,
After a lifetime of dreams.
Who said we only need doers?
This world also needs DREAMERS.
by: Myrl Lehman-Tapungot
