The lamp I grabbed on the long walk home Glistened in the night’s light. Smudge after smudge gathered up, And I could not resist to rub. Of course, A genie appeared. WIth no fear or cheer I asked For my wishes— Which is tradition. Of course. What shall they be? What do you need? I hadn’t answered For what seemed to be weeks Before He came begging for more: What is your wish? What do you want? I wholly don’t know, But needn’t reveal that here. Many years passed before he cast Out his question again. Only this time I’d find An answer for him: I wish To know what I want. I thought but never told. All hope would go With my last breath unspoke. The genie remains chained to my words.