Some people have surmised that the only way to be truly rich is to be poor.
The Cloths of Heaven
W.B. Yeats
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
This post comes from my old Friendster blog. Ow. Friendster. It’s been 2 years since I’ve last visited it. Anyway this poem was a note given to me a few years back when I was still bumming around in Los Baños.
I like its melacholic spirit that I kept it for a time only to rediscover it again floating around the internet. Amazingly the original was written by someone using the nick “teng”. It was submitted to a website (i forgot which) and edited again by a certain “mimi”. However, the note given to me had additional words that I think did not come from “teng”. The additional words are in bold characters below.
Still it is a great poem. I could almost see her again but not that clear anymore as someone has already taken permanent residence in my heart. This time forever.