The Golden Haze
You said to go out to the fields, and lay among the hay
To count the grains on every stalk, that make the golden haze.
You told me that each grain I saw was equal to one dream
The dreams of all the people who truly lived and breathed.
You said that every grain, though weak and small and one
That each would have its day, shining in the sun.
"And now," you say quietly, for only me to hear,
"Listen to the dreams that have been dreamed throughout the years."
For each of us has a grain, to thrive under the sky
And each of us has a dream, that lives and never dies.
"My dream is you," you say, as you wrap me in your arms
"To live as perfect guardian and keep you from all harm."
What is your dream, my child, go out pick your grain
What is the thing that you want most to flourish in the hay?
For every dream ever made blooms a little while
And adds another piece of hay out into the wild.
To live and thrive from the ground, without any strife
And grow other tiny grains, dreams upon its life.
And the dreamers of those tiny grains will go out to the fields
And lay among the golden hay to think and love and feel.
And they will sit upon the grass, to count the yellow grains
And marvel at the wild dreams that make the golden haze.
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