I fall into the dreams I craft. Unshackled from the present, I heal my aggrieved heart. I ponder, fiddle with the past, Shape time, trifle with fortune, Fashion what could have been And remain comforted until I can no longer remain, for There are others. Others who will not know The bone-tingling joy of first love Who will never see a sparrow hop Branch to branch in the dead of winter, Who face attenuated life without despair, Who dare not dream for fear of want. And yet they do dream, Dreams infinitely more modest And infinitely more powerful Than my own constructs, And I awake, silent.