When I was young, I dreamed my dream,
As I turned a handle that made the cream,
While feeding cows, and cackling hens,
Grunting pigs in smelly pens.
I dreamed of you, imagined your face,
The way you would walk with queenly grace.
While in the fields, wheat sheaves to stack.
Long flowing gowns, men dressed in black,
Of concert halls, with kings and queens,
Were all a part of my childhood dreams.
I grew. One unsuspecting day, I saw you,
Walking tall, elegant, and in my heart, I knew.
On my arm, you danced; softly, as a feather falls.
To my mind came visions of concert halls.
Cymbals crashed, the drum roll grew,
The percussionist stood, and it was you.
The maestro turned, baton in hand,
As though the score had all been planned,
The spotlight paused, then moved along,
The orchestra played a love song.
We walk now, where once we ran,
A pause to celebrate where it all began,
A pride in our children; their children too,
Lives we have shared while each of us grew.
The places we've been, the people we've known,
Our love for each other, and what it has grown.
We celebrate the past, but reach out to the new.
Listen my darling, can you hear it too?
The orchestra is playing
a love song for you.
-- gordon william bain, Sept 4th, 2008.
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