My dream
Not only capture who I am
And what I love
But who made me

I dream of Langston Hughes
And the rivers and dreams
That have helped so many
And progressed a generation

I dream of Neruda
And his ode
That say so many artful things
Of love
That I wish I could create

I dream of the Old Bard
And his oh so any plays
That confuse and awaken something in me
And the words, words, words

I dream of Robert Frost
And the miles he had to go
That I have also had to travel
And hope to not end up in any of those
Desert places