With hungry eyes afire

The Dream swells in his heart

The young man grows impatient

To quickly take his part

Quick and strong at twenty-one

His life has yet no past

He teases each moment and pushes

As though it were the last

Seasons flow together

The Dream will have to wait

At forty he knows reality

Wipes his brow and stretches his gait

Where did they go so quickly?

His ideals so real and alive

They’re missing now, but not the pain

For the man at sixty-five

Sunset’s fingers touch a weathered face

No friends to ring the phone

The Dream alive for ninety years

Now dies with him, alone

(c) 2017 – D. J. Winfield