I once beheld dreams as leaves
Green and full of life
Their veins clear against the sunlight
Never to see autumn
Never to let go
Never to crinkle.
But some I behold now as at end of summer
wondering if fall will come
on them
after all.
Crushed to brown powder
And scattered to the wind--
some of them, yes.
But might I gather them into a pile
still shining with orange and red
and, piled high, full of the smell of earth
LEAP and believe
There's life in them yet.
postscript
For day 6 of Even when you're pushing thirty, you can still hang onto those childhood dreams and believe they will still come true. (Ok fine, mid twenties. But I feel old. Haha.)