Ah, poetry.
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.W. B. Yeats
When we think of dreams, we often think of our own. Perhaps, of how vain they are, or of how meager. Do we ever think of what role we play in the dreams of others?