A child sleeps. Immediately,
Ten dozen or more dreams leap
From his mind—products of
Overactive sleep.

They dance before his inner
Eye like sprites and faeries,
Wending away the hours
Between bedtime and sunrise.

Morning creeps closer. Dreams
Slip away and meld into
The sunlight. Off to Neverland
They fly. Newly arrived, they crowd
Round their keeper, vying to be looked at,
Remembered, cherished, hoped-for.

A mother watches her child wake and
Knows the dreams, for now, are gone.
“Guard them well, Peter Pan,”
She cautions. “Let not one escape,
For the trifles of last night's dreams
Are the great progresses of tomorrow.”