Sunday Spring Dreaming

My  dream crawled through my mind's attic door,
timid and tremulous, fearing I would fall.
Would I misstep, kiss the dusty old floor,
and lie helpless, unable to rise at all? 

Alas, too weak to dance and prance 
among boxes, mirrors, trunks, and cases, 
I shuffled and tiptoed the tinnitus dance,
hissing and shushing, through piles of old places.

Baleful, my gaze raked shelves of old dreams --
packed with plans and roles and paintings unhung, 
empty pages, and poems, and unfinished reams 
of fierce stories untold and sweet songs unsung.

I wandered, I wobbled, and brushed a dark window,
Releasing a sunbeam that lanced through the dark.
I followed its beam through dolorous shadow,
It struck an old mirror with a rainbow spark.

I glanced in that glass and what did I see?
The face of my father scowled back at me!

I suddenly woke in my rocking chair, 
Warm from the sun and the afternoon air... 
And made plans for spring cleaning then and there.

Mick  McKellar

May 2026