Before the Rising Sun

Before the rising sun came, 

the dream that tagged along, 

went, and I wondered, where?

Is it so for the other old men?

Do they dream dreams like me

to wake and watch them flee

before the cock a doodle do?

'Twas such a good one, too,

this now gone dream of mine.

I long to find it in memory,

to know again it is mine, 

but, alas, what has come

like all things that are here,

is gone to be no more.

If dreams reveal our soul,

I must venture forth now

without knowing the way

which in the dark unfolded.

Must I now step amiss

and stumble on some path

not intended for this day? 

O, Revealer, of all that is,

of all that is not yet to be,

guide these faltering feet,

make the dream a vision

wider than a single night,

one that will show the way

to this searching soul of mine.