My Dream of Dreams

One day an old woman with short silver hair, I’ll view life quite differently, without any care.  

Through blue eyes that sparkle, I’ll cherish the groves of my velvety skin each new smile improves.

My soft cushy places, pillows they’ll be, supporting wee heads so the stars they can see.

We’ll lay on the riverbank warmed by a fire, watching as stars go higher and higher.

I’ll paint for them pictures of far away places, of decadent dishes, and welcoming faces.

I’ll make sure they know fear is a four-letter word, an illusion that fades when the truth is heard.

I’ll share with them stories, the good and the bad. I’ll teach them to know happy is less without sad.

I’ll share my adventures, some grand and some small. I’ll explain without love, life’s no adventure at all.

We’ll sing and we’ll dance, reservations thrown far, knowing we’re perfect just as we are.

Together we’ll laugh til our tummies are sore, til our eyes are crying, then we’ll laugh some more.

I’ll be certain to see them for all that they are, beautiful souls made of dust from the stars.

And through their sweet eyes, I will finally see the beauty and grace that has always been me.

Connected through lifetimes, our hearts are like one, these magical creatures, grandchildren, my Sun.