The Angel and the Author

I had a vexing dream one night, not long ago: it was about a fortnight after Christmas. I dreamt I flew out of the window in my nightshirt. I went up and up. I was glad that I was going up. They have been noticing me, I thought to myself. If anything, I have been a bit too good. A little less virtue and I might have lived longer. But one cannot have everything. The world grew smaller and smaller