Discarded dreams,

like clothes that no longer fit,

bagged up,

put away,

in the attic of yesterday.

Colors faded,

seams softly strained

from the weight

of a thousand life-cares.

Wrinkled, tired, shapeless now,

these dreams that were mine.

But make them over

to warm the cold night.

In patches of color,

blend dark squares with bright.

Old dreams, like old clothes,

reshaped, rearranged,

can be used once again.

(c) 2008 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

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