Was it a dream, this wilted bud
wasted among the trodden mud?
Was it a hope, this crumpled page
discarded near an empty stage?
Was it a wish, this broken quill,
nib splintered so the ink would spill?
Was it desire, this flint-struck flash
extinguished unto lightless ash?
Is it despair, this fatal sigh
when longlived aspirations die?