Dreaming of Mr. Rogers
The story's from my youthful days
Recurring dream whose memory stays
Not bent of anger or violent mind
I more was mild and rather kind
The dream still lingers, is yet to fade
It's time I tell through poem laid
Of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood
His virtues clear and understood
The scene is set with common thread
The homespun den, the sweater red
With sneakers tied and smiling bright
Yet strangely see was late at night
A knocking door, his head had turned
Who could it be would soon be learned
A lion stood upon the rise
A flowing mane and fiercest eyes
And poor old Fred with panicked feel
No make believe, but lion's meal
Copyright SGW 2006
Footnote: Based on an actual, recurring dream I had well into my twenties. I know, I have a twisted side.
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