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Penny for yer thoughts I ask. My quest through time.
One day we might know what went through your mind.
Perhaps in a song, a poem or a sculpture,
Only if we are willing to see, read or hear, as attentively as th author.
And still a smell or a taste is unique to each their own.
Wayfarers eyes, a far reach from home?
Home is where th love is, a nurturin hand, like th wind in our wings high above th land.
There is the freedom we own to see what we want, or close our eyes to things we shunt.
To stare in th present and dream far away, to still ask why when we know anyway.
Beacons for thoughts, create memories
on the excursion of life, there are no enemies.
Ponder on!
___/)
What a beautiful child.
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