Dreaming

There aren't enough hours in the day for me
To become the person I want to be:
An artist whose painting skills would mean
Their works would everywhere be seen;
A writer whose literary talent beams
Out of the works which from them streams;
A pianist from whom the notes just flow,
As nimble fingers fly to and from;
A sporting type, who's really fit,
In whom the glow of health's been lit;
Someone who's travelled so far and wide,
They're better informed than a travel guide;
A person whose general knowledge would range
From mundane facts to the very strange.
An intellectual, the sort to whom
Those who sought advice would zoom.
I can believe it's only time,
That stops me from my upward climb,
To others though it well may seem,
The whole idea is just a dream.