Once I dreamed,

(As mortals must )

Golden dreams that vanished

Like the dust

That burnishes butterflies’ wings.

 

Youthful dreams , innocent and virgin

Unfolding as a chrysalis emerging,

Or shy, sweet crescent moon

Whose rays were silvered threads

Spun on the loom

Of my imagination.

 

Silver strands ‘broidered my tapestry

Of beams and ideals intermingled,

Warmd by hope , my destiny ,

Of lfe breathed and t ngled

 

Dreamed an   ‘broidered and spun,

And then my tapestry flung

At the feet of an idol.

 

Now nights I dream not

Nor spin by day.

My tapestry is finished, for

My idol’s feet are clay.

 

                              L TAPPE