HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
If only one could tailor make friends who had time and good will, how wonderful it would be? How enchanting would such relationships of understanding be where words need not be spoken, mere thoughts would set sail, connect and collaborate? How is one to find souls alike in a journey so full of set backs?
Whither the sail, my friend, whither thy care and solace? What travails has the life to offer further? Wherefrom shall smiles now sprout from a soul so damaged?
What lessons, dear universe, does thou now offer? What tribulations to meet the journey’s end? Whither are the inns to spread one’s legs and sit down a bit, which comrade is to join to cheer?
Coz to walk the path of dreams is most difficult, to chin up and face is most daunting, tell me, dear universe, does thou send thy messaih, the saviour, the friend and the benefactor?
At what turn should she wait? What shall be the sign of care? Whither comes the stop?