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.