Good Dreams Never Wither

Good dreams never wither
Apart from those that slowly die as you watch your reflection in the mirror
Stacked forgotten under your bed to linger
For your children to discover.
But if mine do wither – and you know they could – don't let them wilt in mundane cold
I don't want to descend into ordinary
Like just another hopeful cautionary
Millennial, eager to shake the change-maker
Yet making a puffed up air-filled-shaker,
Who zoomed to London with a zombie business diary
Who joined the line of souls
With their drawn white faces ghoulish and bitter
Their hearts betrayed, and old.
Good dreams never wither.

You know, long ago I skipped in fields of grass and stubble
Milked goats and played on bales of hay
Unknowing, kids like me lived a life of luxury
Compared to those without fresh air or a hand to hold
Like winning the lottery of life, centrefold
In the National Geographic
I was born in my mum's adventure magic:
She went North, you see, my dad with her
In search of peace and clearer
thoughts in showers of not totally normal
paths and choices
A cross between bagpipes and botany
Of jam and books and drones and honey,
And berry wine.
And I wish I could thank them now, for what they gave me.
Good dreams never wither.

And hey, how great to find satisfaction there
In peace and quiet and a three course dinner
But I wanted to fly across the sea
To chase a whim and forsake the bourgeoisie
Gallivant and gallop and experiment
To Peru or Chile
Where the jungle would drop me revolutionaries
And dark eyes and soft Spanish poetry.
Good dreams never wither.

'Mum! Where's my dinner?'
'Mum! In that photo you look thinner.'
Two kids of my own now and
Clunk
I have been plumped
In my chosen adventure, in Spain.
With no ticket home, thanks to politics and sickness and climate change
It's all mundane, pinprick, and homesick
In my own
Monotony
'Mum,' says my daughter
'You are no
Adventurer. '
Good people plodding on
Good deeds left not done
Goodbyes feel so mean
Good adventures unseen
Good dreams never wither.