Sleepwalkers

Sleepwalkers

There are people who pass through these gates,
That are not destined for greatness.
Minds with little else to do but follow quiet fate,
Or spill half-empty on an unforgiving night.

Those whose ideas are not great,
Their lives not great,
Their smiles not great,
Their feet small.
Their wishes no great wishes,
Dreams no great dreams.
And where are they,
I ask you,
Where are they,
Amongst these burnished remembrances of the great,
Who always had words more valuable in their mouths than mine.

What of us, who were born to be forgotten,
Who content ourselves with that not great.
We pass through these gates two-a-penny.
And still we smile,
And turn our collars up against the rain.
Dreaming nonetheless,
Of a love to change the world.

hannah foot
cambridge 1999