By Joshua Philipp
At night alone, I sometimes dream
of a place which seems so far away.
Quietly sitting by a stream.
With words this place so hard to say.
In distant lands, its legends told
of flowered hills and ancient trees.
The weight of wonders, words cannot hold.
Its songs are carried on the breeze.
With kindness its beauty, the people assist.
Every action contains a thought of each-other.
For why I ask do we exist?
But to illuminate the hearts of one-another.
Yet dreams do fade with reality’s wake
With much work to do for mankind’s sake.
Joshua Philipp is a newspaper editor, writer, and poet living in Astoria, New York City. He is vice president of the Society of Classical Poets.
