There will one day be an era,

There will one day be a time,

when I will find some wonder

In this weary life of mine.

/

If I lived between the pages,

Those of words and those of tune,

I would pull out of my sadness

And my whole life out of doom.

/

When the other girls would stumble

I would speak in composed verse,

It would flow right off my lips

And I never would rehearse.

/

All their looks and all their graces

I would pour into the sea.

Like a ship upon the greenest wave

My pen would be set free.

/

Free to roam around the forest

And write the shimmer of the stream,

Free to draw up all the flora

And put sunlight in a beam.

/

Ink would turn into a Wheatfield,

I would take chaff as it floats

When I'd write the hazy summers' song

I'd use it as the notes.

/

But the chaff turns into dust

And the cold starts to creep in,

The pains of communication,

They once again begin.

/

With my pen I would seek out

Happiness and even love,

If I lived between the pages

I would surely rise above.

/

As reality approaches

I am once again made weak,

As I wander through the darkness

Not finding the words that I seek.