‘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:
Ordinary lives
lived out in peace, in ordinary ways.
<Jane gives us another Yeats quote, from Easter 1916. So many people have died for their dreams.
Sarah writes poems 
For some, even that small dream is too big. Especially when the waves are high and the boat too heavily loaded. Poignant poem, Sarah, and it will probably always be appropriate.
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Was it OK? I worry about writing about “big” things. It’s hard to get the tone right. And it’s really hard to get feedback on things that don’t work…
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The only thing that I wondered about was the difference between those who have big dreams and those who have small. The poem starts off with the small dreamers, then big dreamers, then it goes back to small again and sounds as though the small dreams come true. I wasn’t sure if you intend them to be the dreams of different people. I thought I’d sussed it, but the end made me wonder if I’d misunderstood.
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I was trying to say that even though they didn’t want much, it was still too much to ask for. Sometimes I know what I’m trying to say, and the message isn’t clear, because I assume everybody else knows! I’ve amended it, so I think it’s clearer now. Thank you.
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That was what I thought, but the end confused me a bit. I’ll reread.
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That makes it perfectly clear! It’s a lovely poem. Hiding their tin-pot precious things next to their skin, so poignant.
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I agree with Jane. Hiding the things next to their skin is a vivid and touching image. Good poem!
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Their dreams were small ones but those dreams were stolen from them by the greedy and the powerful who had bigger dreams for themselves.
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Sadly
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Oh gosh, this is beautiful and poignant, Sarah. So many through the centuries with ordinary lives and hopes that have been snatched away.
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Thank you, Merril. Too many people fleeing war, and never making it to safety. It is terrible that we haven’t moved on from that.
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I agree, Sarah. It seems we will never learn.
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