Lonnie Budro



I held tighter to my pillow as the fog began to clear
This dream seemed never ending, as I felt somebody near
In the early morning darkness; just before the dawning day
On a path made of cobblestone, we walked along the way

Tree branches almost empty, reaching out to us like claws
Somewhere in the distance; I could swear I heard applause
My silent companion walked along, while covered by a hood
A gentle breeze, swept the leaves, where once a poet stood

Iron gates with broken hinges had appeared just up ahead
The moss covered sign above them, introduced us to the dead
But just before we entered, my companion raised his hand
Then he pointed to a place, where he summoned me to stand

An audience had been assembled from among the many stones
Poets came from near and far, to hear what they had longed
I stood there on that well worn spot, alongside of the fence
While silence fell among us, as my reading had commenced

Then I read them several poems; which I have yet to write
As each of them applauded, as they disappeared from sight
Then I pulled the covers closer, as I awoken with a chill
Was this just a dream I had; or was it really real ?

-The poet in me

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