Why leap beneath the tease of dangling dreams,
that mock me with the thought of grasping them
but hang there just above my grandest schemes,
contentments that my failing hands condemn?
What's heaven for but proof of what I lack?
It hides above the stars I'll never touch.
The wishes lost to them I can't get back,
and hope for it becomes a feeble crutch.
But if my heart is fixed on simple things --
a hug from you, a kiss beside the fire --
those cruel dreams can keep their mocking wings,
for I have grasped all things that I desire.
Let other men pursue a "dream come true";
I'll be content for life just holding you.
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