Once ...

 

Once on a Sunday that lady believed

magic would manifest all of her dreams

and the sun shone on that day in between

the beginning and end of that Sunday that was.

 

She remembers well the heat of the day

and how blue the sky that captured her gaze

and as the leaves danced on each/every tree

she wondered what tune played only for them.

 

She listened because she too wished to dance

to celebrate fully her day of belief

but instead she sat still and breathed in the air

that surely held tunes she couldn’t yet hear.

 

And then the night fell; it kept falling, you know,

and blanketed out the sun, sky and trees.

to make her believe her day of belief

was plain and simply a dream.

 

But what held the dreams she certainly had

except that glorious day of belief

that weakened its grip and let them fly free

to perhaps manifest in some other time.

 

She waits and she waits and listens each day

for the music she couldn’t then hear

but she knows she will one Sunday in time

because days of belief don’t disappear.