To Charles Lamb

Children that never were,

How many years must you wait still?

How many of my own lit dreams

Must float along towards your shore

Before your million years have passed?

In what age will the reverie be true?



Must all unfulfilled dreams

Of Poets forever remain so?

Their words haunt me as Time rushes on,

Trapping me tighter everyday.

In what age shall I break free?

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