The Wind From My Sails

I can only dream little dreams,
Swallow skyscrapers and fold paper seams.
I'm allowed but a small spoon of sugar,
Hollowed out eggs, dripping yoke, losing figure.
Keep your eye on the prize, there's the trophy ahead,
Catching light in your eyes, burning your eyes red.
Where the sycamores grow, you'll find lavish lands,
Scavenging berries and roots with my bare hands.
There's a penny tucked in my loafer, just in case--
In case, there's more time to catch a breath in the midst of this race.
And in the night there was a tapping on the pane of my window,
Harassing my sound dreams where made up things unceasingly grow.
A wise old bird winked at me and sang me back to sleep,
Where I found myself unable to stop the weeping that I weep'd.

There's a wind in my sails dragging my journey out far,
Far away from the land where the wild things are.