I hold in my hand the epitome of perfection.
Lush green grass and evergreens dot a winter's
Fondest dreams; a snow-white scape upon
A cozy schoolyard where children lay and sing.

But I cannot enter: the glass forbids my deepest dreams within the snowdome.

Inside my grasp are lovers' laughs, and raptures
Of joyful ecstasy. Love so tender yet so
Intense smiles from picket fences; whose homes
Shine the brilliant lights of joy and tranquility.

But I cannot enter: the glass forbids my deepest dreams within the snowdome.

They say "the Master-Craftsman" built this dome;
But what malice motivates one to tantalize
Another with his perfect bliss -- to torment
Him to Reason's edge with visions untouchable?
I break not the glass which preserves my home
Of dreams, for beauty thrives in fluid skies
And pristine scenes are forever sealed, cemented
Away for all my days -- my love is unreachable.

For I dare not enter: the glass forbids my deepest dreams within the snowdome.