Dream killers daily stalk the streets of you and I
travel, trying to trip us up, but we can give them the slip. I have
learned to protect my heart-songs. I keep them wrapped
in the well wishes of my family, the encouragement of my
truest friends. Sometimes, using pen and ink, I anchor my dreams
and let them sink in the margins of a diary. Or, maybe I slide them in
a smooth sandalwood box buried beneath my bed. But a
dream called impossible? That I tuck between the silken
folds of my private thought - tough as steel, thing as cloth.
