I wish not for glorious riches
I seek not for fame and pride
I dream of a home to look unto
a place where I can be alive

I whisper not prayers of uncanny health
nor wish for eternal wisdom's guide
I dream of whispering "I love you"
to my woman, to my child

And yes, I dream of doors wide open
to my return from a laborious day
and sit to find some bread and porridge
to warm the coldness of my summer's day

So that I may lay round a crowd of few
and close my eyes so weary and sappy
and to barely utter my last words
this, is what will make me happy.