Matchbox Mansions, Chocolate Cake

What are our days made up of?

Of good-mornings and good-byes,

Of long hellos and how-do-ya-dos,

Of green grass and sandy surf,

Of prosaic poems and poetic prose... 

Behind touching tears in twinkling eyes,

there live day dreams and subtle smiles,

Dreams of matchbox mansions, 

chocolate cake,

those of a lonely lotus in a lovely lake.... 

I sight wonder, woe and oh! a camera click,

there is plaster, paint, gold and gilt,

I see Romeo, Juliet, and a dead nightingale,

who bled herself for the flower pale.

And yet, the days go on and on,

made up ever and anon,

of good mornings and good byes.. .