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Still, a single casement of my dream remains unseen.  Sometimes there is no breaking through, only the desire to do so.  The opening may never exist for us, what then?  Hope and hope again.  It's all prose, it's all poetry.  Carefully I must take care of this following time.  I have hope, I must retain said.

     Opened through a starlit window,
     A shadowed form breezes past,
     Both feather and fur it doth show,
     From Phoebus' flamed molds 'tis cast.
     No terror precludes its attempt,
     No narrator tells of his intent.
     A casual heart is caught, new and unaware,
     And only wishes for an ancient past despair.
     Sometimes the voices in the night,
     Will sing sweet treats to the soul,
     But this one creeps in blight,
     Playing man's every role.

After finishing the duck, Harry moved on, past the greens, past the potatoes, and found himself surrounded by pasta.  Not in a wild dream had he ever touched such ecstasy.

As she watched her spouse, Loretta knew that only one thing could hold her sanity, only one thing, and that was an escape.  The opportunity was there now, she need only follow through.  If it was a back door that she needed, then she had it all.  Escape to dreamland, that's what she'd title her next column, years from now when the world was on her side.