In the wake of the sun bright early morn <br />dreams still travel, they are never lorn <br />thrusting ill fate to the place of the deep <br />and uplifting all you wish to keep <br />Your dream was made of good tomarrows <br />of a world of love and no more sorrows <br />of peace, and hope for every soul <br />no matter where evil took its' toll. <br />Your hearts' stretching forth <br />a grasp to eternity <br />trying to give the drought <br />of fate a plea: <br />'Please, please <br />play for me my dream.'<br /><br />S.W. Clark<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/play-for-me-my-dream/
