My dearest dreams lay locked in a crystal snowglobe.
A pristine prison, with fluid skies and scapes
of golden glitter, hides the tarnished groans
of love unclaimed and bliss in chains; and drapes
the dismal dark in brilliant light. The home
of broken dreams in hideous shackles escapes
its notice in the guise of glistening streams and roans
of wild horses running free and gay.

A tormenting vision clothed in smiling sun --
I can hold it, but never touch its face.
I can see it, but never behold its light.

Others play, but I'll not be the one
this day, to shine and grace this sacred space --
yet I wait for chiming bells in seas of white.