You talk about a future.
One, where I’m your happily wedded wife,
a small house, a cute dog, a baby on the way;
a future framed wish.

But then you go and hang it
on a wall far, far, away,
high above the passing of time
where it may never be viewed.

Then you ramble on
about your doubts and your fears
that the glass on your future wish
may crack, break, and shatter

So I go and buy it a stronger shield
a tiny case for its own protection
with great hope that this framed future
may always be placed out to be dreamed.