Treading through the blizzard
With emptiness in front of you,
You look behind to see your footsteps
Disappearing with the freshly fallen snow.
You ache for a warm bunk,
And the gratifying smell of sizzling roasted chicken,
Buttery mashed potatoes, glazed vegetables
And an apple pie baking in the oven.
You decide that the only way to obtain this gratification of food
Is you must be a merchant sailor on the high tides;
The wealthiest merchant captain on the sea.
Finally, you wake up,
Realizing you’re just a homeless chap in a fantasy.