The Possibility of Dreams

The season’s change convinced
the vendor by the river
to give up tomatoes
and fishing worms,
There were no fishermen
and the garden is done.

So now he’s turned to roses,
wind blown but proud
they are beacons on a stormy shore.
Their stems are trimmed
of thorns and vagrant leaves,
They speak in hues

that delight the eye, and who
I ask you, could not spare a dollar
for a long stemmed beauty
or for an old man alone
living on pennies and memories
and the possibility of dreams.

4 thoughts on “The Possibility of Dreams

  1. In December he sells wreathes and trees. After Christmas he disappears until the weather turns warm again. I don’t know where he goes or how he lives during the winter. One day I might get bold and ask him.

    Thank you so much for the visit and for your kind words.


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