I dream of houses big and small,
Of large front porches and leaves in the fall.
I dream of coffee steaming in my mug,
Of plenty of food and the comfort of a hug.
I dream of woodsmoke and fresh, white snow,
Blue skies in summer and biscuit dough.
I dream of plastic eggs hiding in the grass,
Of an old, spring mattress with a headboard of brass.
I dream of rhubarb so sour I shiver,
And the sting in my hand from a tiny, wood splinter.
I dream of moonlight on white, gulf coast sand,
And the smooth certainty of my wedding band.
I dream of the jangle of an old, rotary phone,
I dream of the roughness of a human skeleton bone.
I dream of apples fresh off the tree,
And of shifting sands beneath a blue-green sea.
I dream of things in the present and the past,
Of things meant to perish and things meant to last.
Of the person I was, life full of sin,
And a far away country to which I’ve never been.
I dream of a cross bridging the gap between,
The woman I was and the one yet unseen.
I dream of mercy, pure love and grace,
And when the dream is reality, I’ll see His face.