Why do I find myself crying,

When I think about putting my words on a page.

Why do I find that fresh tears have fallen,

When I wake to the sound of a hummingbird's wings,

Fluttering outside my window at dawn.

Why does the sweet song of crickets at dusk,

And the small of July in the mornings,

Bring soft little tears of sadness to mind.

When I try to recall,

My fondest of memories.

I've found all I find,

Are my fondest of dreams.

And I hope one day,

That this will have changed.

And I hope that one day,

I'll leave this land of dreams.

In favor of another land,

A land of memories.

And I will be hoping, hoping and wishing.

That this newfound world I find,

Shall be, of memories my own.

And maybe in time,

I'll have the courage, to find,

A world of neither,

Memories nor' Dreams.

Perhaps a little island of hope,

In the great ocean of my fears.