‘We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead; ‘ —W.B. Yeats
Their dreams were small ones – just for ordinary
lives, lived out in ordinary ways,
no river of excitement, just a gentle
stream of endless, ordinary days
They carried those dreams with them, held them
firmly, under shirts, next to the skin,
with other precious things, the things they kept,
a holy medal, or a mother’s ring;
as if those things would warm them, in the cold,
wild rocking boats, pressed tight,
hip against hip, arms wrapped around each other,
in all the dirty dangers of the night.
Sometimes small dreams are still too big to bear,
small dreams can be too heavy to hold on,
and when the waves are rising up around you,
sometimes you find that all your dreams are gone.
Their dreams were small ones:
lived out in peace, in ordinary ways.
<Jane gives us another Yeats quote, from Easter 1916. So many people have died for their dreams.