With head up in the clouds, I carry on.
by Esther F. Ryder
My dreams, alone, escape and climb aloft
Upon the wings of feathered siblings,
Brothers of my fantasies.
As pilots of the clouds, they kiss the sun. My dreams can reach the peaked tops of trees
Astride the solitary osprey's back,
While some, ride tucked away in outspread plumes
Or perched upon the proud bald eagle's head,
A symbol of our land.
Still other dreams go whistling by, on hawks
To whose great glorious wings they cling. They straddle winds that spin in rings
Around the world, yet never stop.
My dreams ride high into the sky;
But, when I sleep, my head rests light
Upon a cushion of those dreams.
They fill my life with wealth beyond belief,
Which I now share with you.