Center of my grandma’s courtyard
A charming plain tree has grew for years
I spent my whole day, observing
Beneath its canopy, observing its fears
I was told, curiosity is dream. I was five
I concentrated on a little moving life
Saw it carried a shell, wandering
A step up, in a slow speed
I sit on a bench, quietly pondering
Learning is one of the steps to dreaming. I was eight
By knowing little words, I still would like
To try reading books, they confused me
An English teacher came to help me
He told me, obviously
Dreams need work. I was twelve.
Blood, sweat, and tears
Little snail, carrying a shell, it climbed
The azure sky is waiting for it,
Slowly, as if being timed
I was told, snail dreams take time. I was fifteen
Rainstorm, lightning, and snowstorm
A snail is climbing up, using every second of its life
How the shell weighs it down
It deserves the shiniest sky for its strife
Maybe, I thought, dreams take time and work. I was 15.
Time, as fickle as the heart of man
I work and work, but it seems
As close as I come,
My dreams are still just dreams
Anyway, the little snail is my courage.
Already tried to do rhyme scheme.