Humor and Dreams

There is an old man
Who I've known a long time
Living downstairs from me
He used to tell me humor
Was number one on his list of the most
Precious things on this Earth
If a person didn't smile
He had the talent to change that
His charisma always shined
Sometimes brighter than he wanted
In recent times, he's been quiet
He doesn't talk about humor
He doesn't try to get people to laugh
Instead, he carries a shovel everywhere
And when he finds
A soft patch of soil, he digs
I asked him what he was digging for
And he told me dreams
Which are, of course, the second item
On his list of most precious things
I don't know why he has to dig for them, though
Perhaps he buried them before
He discovered humor
And now that it is gone,
Perhaps he hopes to find
The next best thing.