Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Dreams

When first I took your bow in novice hand
To scrape its rosined hairs across the string,
There came a piercing squeal I had not planned -
That burst my dreams of stirring you to sing.
Unwilling, though, to let my dream dissolve,
Again and yet again, with careful stroke
I drew the bow with care and firm resolve,
And from your depths bewitching notes awoke.
The years have passed; now nimble fingers fly,
And lightly touch on resonating wire.
With breathy cheer, or melancholy sigh,
Our trembling hearts you move, our dreams inspire.
But far above your songs, you've taught me this:
No dream, without resolve, could e'er persist.

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