If you were to tell me,
that the world I'm in,
was but conjured,
would I let loose and live free?

If you were to tell me,
that all I've seen,
was but trial,
would I concede in glee?

If you were to tell me,
that all I've felt,
was but concocted in my haze of thoughts,
would I doubt and flee?

But if you were to see,
that in the vast oceans and seas,
all I've wanted was but to plea;
a wee lass such as me,
neither delicate like a pea,
nor sturdy like a tree,
but a wreck much like thee,
that there's a key,
one that opens those doors wide,
in time before long,
and welcomes me,
ardently.