I once possessed notions about crossing oceans,
And visiting South Sea isles;
But now I em older, my dreams have grown colder
By an eight or nine thousand of miles.
One day I was certain some day I’d be flirtin’
With dough, and a helpmate in mink;
Schemes haven’t developed: the wife is enveloped
In muskrat or rabbit (I think).
Yes, I owned ambitions for priceless conditions
To make my existence a pipe;
But as a go-getter I might have done better,
For I am the dreamer type.
Although we’ve no bankful, and ought to be thankful
For six rooms, a job, and a car–
I cannot be puffed by just this when I muffed my
Chance to do better than par.
I once possessed oceans of rose-colored notions
That painted a life full of smiles:
My day-dreams were folly, for I’ve missed the trolley
By an eight or nine thousand of miles!
by Ray Romine Monday, September 4, 1944
