Dreams are lost,
like leaves,
still green,
on the eve of a wintry frost.

Dreams are lost,
where passersby wear tan skin coats, 
and carry lanterns that burn sweat at 
kerosene's cost.

Dreams are lost,
on long roads,
where the sun bakes the feet 
of all who move a-cross.

Dreams are lost 
whenever eyes open.
Perhaps they are found
with faith renewed,
with hope awoken.