The imagination of a child
Is like a fine web that can be broken.
With one small thoughtless prod,
The web shall fall to pieces.
Then, with much time and effort,
The web can be repaired.
But the weaver of webs shall be
Haunted with nightmares
And the music shall fade.
All guardians of weavers
With little minds that spin sweet fairy tales,
Must endeavour to protect them.
For when the webs are shattered
And the souls are mocked;
The spinners of dreams are broken
And the music gently fades,
Leaving all dream weavers
To find their way back
To weave dreams once again.
~ Amelia Dashwood © 2015