There is a hallowed field

There is a hallowed field,

Filled with the crushings of stars--

The seeds of all creation

Kept for all to see.

There is no gate about the field,

No fence, no lock, no key, no bar, nor guard.

None, none, none, none, none.

Instead, the field extends everywhere.

All roads, all paths, all journeys

Lead to the field of stars.

It lies in the heart of every journeyman,

Of every trader, crafter, and adventurer.

For this is the place where dreams do grow.

Not all of them sweet, not all of them pleasant,

And yet each is born of a hapless heart.

Therefore, blame not the dream, but the dreamer.

A dream is oft a fragile thing,

Too sweetly made,

It ripens quickly, turns sour and then dies;

Made too stern,

It never grows ripe, but remains green and rings hollow.

Small and precious are the seeds;

They take no space, no water, no soil, nor time

Save love…

Love, love, love, love, love.

The field is a heart, the heart a dream,

The dream is a child, the child is me.

Be careful with the littles ones.

They only require love.