Why Do We Dream

By John A. Wilson

Why do we dream of soft winds

And moonlight in the trees,

Of branches reaching to the sky

Stripped of all their leaves.

Of Cassiopeia and Orion

High in the November sky

Of running feet, of bloodcurdling screams

As a Phantom rushes by.

Why do we dream of dust and smoke

And the moans that the wounded make?

Why do we dream of a night firefight

And the lives that we had to take?