Buddha's Dream Poem by Joe Fraccalvieri

I was raised by Buddhists... This story is true
I once slept in the temple-- by the altar--
since there wasn't a pew
I was exhausted... Tired-- from thinking too much
And as such, I dreamt of a woman...
Not just any woman, mind you-- but one with a magical touch

So where were the women? , I would ask of the monks
And the priests would smack me with the back of their sticks
In a very short time, pardon reason or rhyme,
it would seem that this dream had been one of their tricks

I carried many buckets of water that day--
from the well down the path looking over the bay…
And the buckets were made with the hardest of wood--
from a tree in the valley, where the townspeople say
an angel once stood

And when I filled every cup that I possibly could
I found the more I would pour-- even more than I should,
made my hands very sore, but my laughter felt good

And on in the night-- below the moon's glowing light--
I dreamt that I was but a string on a kite
So I said to the monks the very next day,
"Why is it we work, with no time to play? "

With no other recourse, they turned me away,
and upon this dilemma, they started to pray

Then they sent me to wander, for many a mile--
to gather up stones-- to be placed in a pile

And by the time I had finished, this lesson I learned:
Though faith would come easy,
knowledge had to be earned!

And as this thought was discerned, I started to smile...
For in truth, I discovered…
I'd been asleep--
all the while….