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You starry-eyed idealist,
You’ve been in my heart too long.

How did I let you convince me
That life could be a song?
When I turn my back on you
And face reality,
I see life’s small satisfactions
Submerged in drudgery.

But when the sun shows through a fog,
Casting gold on all I see,
Through the dark and distant clouds I hear
A bit of melody.

When all my goals seem trivial
And my efforts like a joke,
Then I can close my eyes and hear
A distant song of hope.

©2010 Carol Morfitt

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