The Mirage
By Charles Simic
Like a cartoon of a man in a desert,
Fallen on his knees and dying of thirst,
Who suddenly sees ahead of him
A fresh pond and some palm trees,
Once on a train approaching Chicago,
I saw a snow-peak mountain
I knew perfectly well was not there,
And yet I kept looking, seeing even
A green meadow with sheep grazing,
When the clouds of black smoke
Swirling over the huge steel mills
Hid that lovely vision from my eyes.
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