My caterpillar cocoon of imagination

And I spun this graceless ball of silk

Around me, to hide from the world,

But, see, inside, it was gold and bright,

And from nowhere, these wings unfurled!


But I, like Alice, was only dreaming,

To escape my tedious lessons,

Because, I feel, a book without feeling

Is as useless as a world without love

And a life without imagination is a waste of the ability,

To spread your wings, and look down from above.

The End

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