How many those with whom you’d go to bed;
How few of those, with whom you’d like to waken.
And parting in the morning you would wave your hand,
And turn around, and smile, and start your waiting,
For any news from them, while worrying with no end.
How many those with whom you merely live,
And drink your morning coffee, talk, and squabble;
With whom it’s possible to travel to the sea;
And, as it goes, in good times or in times of trouble,
You stay together, only love is not a thing.
How few of those with whom you want to dream!
To watch the clouds transforming in the heaven,
To scribble on the virgin snow a special message,
To give all thoughts and prayers to the one you cherish,
And not to seek or wish for greater bliss.
How few of those with whom you can be mute,
Who understands your every word and notion,
The ones whom you support with deep devotion;
For whom you’ll take all pains, as if they were promotions,
And any execution too, to boot!
And every day still further winds this thread:
We easily meet, then part our ways unshaken.
It’s all because so many those with whom you’d go to bed;
It’s all because there are so few with whom you’d like to waken.