PADRE
To each his Dulcinea
That he alone can name
To each a secret hiding place
Where he can find the haunting face
To light his secret flame
For with his Dulcinea Beside him so to stand,
A man can do quite anything,
Outfly the bird upon the wing,
Hold moonlight in his hand
Yet if you build your life on dreams
It's prudent to recall,
A man with moonlight in his hand
Has nothing there at all
There is no Dulcinea,
She's made of flame and air,
And yet how lovely life would seem
If ev'ry man could weave a dream
To keep him from despair
To each his Dulcinea
Though she's naught but flame and air!

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