Up, upward, I'm looking up, birds are chirping too, reminds me of things I want to do. Fly, flying high above away from cares I soar, my dreams my aspirations come tumbleing down like sheets of paper. Down, as I write them all down, seems like a story I write, write of visiting far away places, places deep and far, places,unknown, where only dreams can whisper there. Turn, turning I look to see, a friendly face that beckons me, to begin my journey of writing, writing darkened mysteries to unfold, things not known until they come to be on my paper with the pen. A world of possiblity.


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