All Is Dream

The boy approached the river
His harp huge and complex
How would he ride it on the swirling sea?
How would he wring music out of it on the way?
He took one look back at home
The steeples had an air of sadness in the distance
that almost attracted him back
but just then the breeze blew the minor strings
and it spoke of unknown adventure
the boy with a satchel full of dreams
had heroes in his heart
as he positioned his harp
he wondered could it be true
as his grandmother had said
that the world responded to one’s inner music
and everywhere around, all was dream

© Miwsig