The Weaver of Dreams

I weave your dreams from autumn leaves Turned brown and drifting downwardToward the emptiness Of summer skiesWhen the snow flurriesUpward toward the starlit heavensAnd the moon looks down Upon the restless hopesOf careworn soulsWho daren’t BelieveThat anythingCould be so real As the grind of wheat upon the wheels of time.And the feet of those who’ve gone beforeIn the dusty tracks of themWho couldn’t findTheir way.