Catch them— too fast, catch your dreams;
’cause, while disembodied, they ars—
What can you do? poor pilgrims!
Think: you’re but feathers, not birds.
Catch them— too fast, catch your dream;
’cause, while they are escaped, no more—
Think: your lives are deserts, barren azure,
Accumulated ice only, white, worthless cream—
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