If hope is a thing with feathers
— oh, can’t you just see it fluttering its wings?
And one can be compared to a summer’s day
— isn’t that something you could say?

If these wild nights of our lives
— and we adore those nights
Are spent dancing with daffodils
— with great joy this image me fills

If we can find great beauty in a Greek urn
— fascinating how much of them we can learn
And our heroic hearts are strong in will,
only striving, seeking, finding, and never yielding

If we can’t stop for death
— and we can’t, even if out of breath
And since we cannot travel both roads,
shall we choose the one less travelled by?

If poets are right
— as it seems they often are
in a beautiful world we are living indeed
even if this all was naught but a dream within a dream.