Reaching for stars that turn out to be brands Of fire that burn both my heart and my hands, Warning me never to reach forth again, Clutching beyond human boundary or ken. Well worth being burned if I only could hold Tight to my dreams until they have grown cold; What if I carry scars seared by hot embers Leaving my heart something it long remembers? And traveling back down that memorable lane, I wish that my poor hands could reach forth again. |