Never cut the airy wings,
Of Poet's imagination,
They can really, highly fly,
Encompassing so many things,
...
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salvation comes in many forms. Saving a weary mind with poetry is one
yeah, the lost art of daydreaming, the beginning of all fantastic creations as a kid, if I wasn't lighting things on fire, I was daydreaming...
I wholeheartedly agree with you Sandra! Nice poem.