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.