I guess I have to admit it, I’m a bit of a romantic.
Obviously, the world makes it hard for dreaming, but I can’t seem to let go.
I awoke early the other day, and sat down with a book of William Butler Yeats poetry, and found this one I hadn’t read in years:
Had I the heavens embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with gold and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths,
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.