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.

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