The first poem I memorized as a child was this, when I was about five, but as I try to recall it now, I keep getting this weird static. Here, let me show you what I mean. It starts “Hold Fast to Dreams”:
“Hold fast to dreams
But make sure they don’t cloud you into being a dreamer
For if dreams die
You can always just say, ‘heck, they were unrealistic, I went with my head not my heart’ but
Even though without dreams
Life is a broken winged bird
That cannot fly
You can remember that we have lots of good private medical insurance that could probably make that bird a perfectly good non-flying pet. Enjoy your pets. Heck, get a kitten. Or a ferret.
Hold fast to dreams
But remember you are just a know-nothing, idealistic dreaming punk “millennial” kid
For when dreams go
And they will, I am not kidding Maddi!
Life is a barren field
But you never know, we could probably frack it if is on a shale field and have a good retirement.
Frozen with snow.
Frozen with snow? Do you have any idea how profitable a ski resort could be? Come on, grow up and look at the possibilities of pragmatism.”
Oh wait, it is coming through a bit clearer now. Yes. Here it comes. Oh, this is better now. Yes, that is the poem that I recall from my childhood those nearly 60 years ago:
“Hold fast to dreams
for if dreams die
life is a broken-winged bird
that can not fly.
Hold fast to dreams
for when dreams go
life is a barren field
frozen with snow.”
Langston Hughes