THE DREAM WEAVER

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 119, 10 August 1927, Page 6

THE DREAM WEAVER

Slowly he came, all wrinkled and bent; On his shoulders a. bundle so queer; His clothing was patched and tattered and rent, But his eyes held a light, starry clear. And, yet as he walked his footsteps were light, And he smiled on the young ones at play; The sky grew dusky with soft shades of night As he called to the children to say: “Oh, I am the weaver of fairy dreams Some call me the ‘Man in the Moon,* 1 gather the dewdrops and wandering beams, To weave on my fairy loom, clouds. And spray from the green sea waves, My elves bring me gossamer, cobwebs, and crowds Of pearls from the sea serpents’ caves. The sweet baby stars from the bright Milky Way, And songs from the throat of a bird That carolled its song at the first peep of day; The laugh of a child when she heard The rustling of leaves on the first day of spring (My elves bring me rainbow tints, too). Each dream is composed of an exquisite thing. And I offer them, children, to , you.” —Laughing Whirlpool (Bettie Colwell, aged 16).