dreaming of blueberries
She wrinkles her lips dreaming of blueberries
How does one dream of blueberries when a babe?
Only knowing of the suckling of the breast,
And the warm pure mama’s milk, summery, gold.
She dabbles in the dreams of her ancestors,
Her mother, her father, her Italian greats and English roots.
She dreams of cinnamon sticks and galloping horses,
Windy days and stormy rains, meadows and great big oak trees.
All the things we would like to see in Heaven.
Dream on, dream until your dreams come true.
As we age a little, we have freedom and duty,
We wake up for life with a readiness about us,
While we sleep – we plan, we pine, we heal.
Sleeping beauty, she schemes and projects,
Onto a radiant platform left by her forefathers.
Kissing the blossoms, batting the eyelashes,
With no fear, she is soon ready to wake and triumph.
dedicated to niece Olive
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How does one dream of blueberries when a babe?
Only knowing of the suckling of the breast,
And the warm pure mama’s milk, summery, gold.
She dabbles in the dreams of her ancestors,
Her mother, her father, her Italian greats and English roots.
She dreams of cinnamon sticks and galloping horses,
Windy days and stormy rains, meadows and great big oak trees.
All the things we would like to see in Heaven.
Dream on, dream until your dreams come true.
As we age a little, we have freedom and duty,
We wake up for life with a readiness about us,
While we sleep – we plan, we pine, we heal.
Sleeping beauty, she schemes and projects,
Onto a radiant platform left by her forefathers.
Kissing the blossoms, batting the eyelashes,
With no fear, she is soon ready to wake and triumph.
dedicated to niece Olive
Back to Poetry Menu
Olive the Renegade
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.
So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." - Mark Twain