Dreams do come true, but only whenThey make it through despair,Limping into everydayTransformed beyond repair.
No dream would be a dream if itCould pass for something real,Nor would we sail for paradiseWould it its shoals conceal.
So it is with love: the dreamLong longed for, now possessed,Must be a dream no longer, butAn emperor undressed.
Stark naked it must come to usIn unaccustomed shame,And we must take it in our armsAnd love it all the same.
And we must love love as it isThat dreams might still come true,Mangled into miraclesTo make our lives anew.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon