What Dreams Might Come
[The Nightly Ride of Shalimar]
Come that moment when amen’s are finished, and big folks by little arms are squished until their hearts have swelled in girth, t’is then a child
truly knows it’s worth; and wee manikin is tucked in bed, who asks that a fairy tale be read, ere parents retreat with blessed “goodnights;” and mommy
lastly gets the lights.
No matter if outside a thunder peals, no matter if an angry gale mouth squeals, or whether night skies are star strewn or barren,
or if a soggy monsoon is geared up and raring, or if rain, sleet or hail or snowy down, or Jack Frost is nipping at the hedgerow's gown,
and Chanticleer has its head tucked beneath its wing, or the groundhog has postponed an early spring; it has little impact once the Sandman comes,
astride of his hypnotizing timpani drums [THRUM-THRUM THRUM-THRUM].
THE END
With night’s approach and day’s retreat, as floor boards reverb’ with pajama’d feet,
readies the nest for when lights are snuffed, as sheets are turned down and pillows fluffed; t'is then daddy will cart his trooper in, as mommy leads the way
- and then on bended knee all three as one will say their peace to God and Son; and naught is recieved in Heaven up above as warmly as is a prayer
giftwrapped in love.
Even before the lamplight fades, and Saturn peeks in past the window's shades;
as a crescent moon plays tag with tides, the sandman saddles up and rides on an ebon steed named Shalimar that can run with the speed of a shooting star
that shimmers across the purple sands, joining nether worlds and nether lands; and as little eyes with wonder gaze they trancelike fall into a daze,
as hooves across the azure rock, rhythmical, like the ticking of a clock [TICK-TOCK TICK-TOCK], tossing about like tamed waves at sea,
swaying like the topmast of a tree; thus in no time at all it seems, the sandman has arrived with his bag of dreams.
Worry and care is eclipsed [way by far] by the handsome horse what answers to Shalimar, and as it lays tracks
across the sand there will follow in its wake a caravan; from whence a camel will approach and kneel, and proffer a ride – but only if you will;
and point you it east or point you it west, the camel will march – for you know best; but keep in mind all is as it seems while in this desert
of arid dreams; and at whim the sand might change to salt sea air, and the camel to a six gun man-o-war; one moment you are a pirate on the choppy sea,
and the next an international man of mystery; and by the time you can count [one, two-and-a-half, three] you can become anyone, at any place in history.
But no matter your diversion the whole night through, you can come to no harm despite what you do. For that is the magic of the shimmering sands,
joining nether worlds to nether lands.
But too soon, earliest dawn approaches around the bend, and the Sandman swings his horse about again;
clutching his sack in his sweeping right hand, he gathers the dream world all in again; Shalimar zips them across the gloaming skies and [POOF]
the camel has vanished, leaving you sitting in bed and rubbing your eyes. Meanwhile your ears [for awhile] are attuned to the far waning thrum
of the retreating percussion of timpani drums. And memory cannot, for all it seems, recall the face of the man, that bringer of dreams.
But as sure as the moon plays tag with the tides, come tonight he'll once again mount up and ride; and with a nod of his head, a flash of his white teeth,
and a sweep of his hand, he'll dole out dreams as he spills out sand, at the feet of a roving caravan.
Clippety-Clop, Clippety-Clop, Clippety-Clop
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