Part one

When the sun is on the upland slopes

It feels as if time has stopped caring

And with your joy you should go on sharing

You can fling your arms out and still have room to dance

onto the stage of the world you must entrance

The birds will go on and flap its wings

no longer will it feel their harsh, harsh sting.

Therefore the poet is just merely dreaming

His eyes starry, glazed, and gleaming.

 

The End

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