To wish for the impossible

    is a very sad thing.

To long for that

    which can never be.

To search and seek

    the rare or unique.

To discover only gaudy artifice

And counterfeit antique.

To steel against

    such selfish perjury—

That ever-piercing sting.

To wish for the impossible

    is a very sad thing.

 

A hope for a consequence

    must go unfulfilled.

To require an outcome

    is a poor guarantee.

To risk one’s luck

    like some gambler gone amuck,

Who, despite the fact

That lightning has already struck,

Clings to some

    ill-fated tree,

So certain that his fortune is willed.

But a hope for a consequence

    must go unfulfilled.

 

 

Summer 2006