The wind blows cold outside,
The sun is flickering out.
The grass grows dry and crumbles down
Around the big blue tent.

So many people sit at home,
So many sing and cheer.
While one stays out in the dark and cold,
Alone and with no cheer.

His limbs are solid icicles,
His teeth chatter deafeningly.
He clings to his jacket for warmth in this world,
His fingers slipping through the holes
Like his life had slipped through his hands.

And suddenly, he becomes very still
As he reminds himself of where he is
Who he is and what he does.
His eyes open wider and wider
As he realizes the one thing that matters.

It was just a dream.

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741