Our Own Fairy TaleNo dragons here today, to slay, my darling, Winnifred,
Nor do I spy three-headed dogs. The clouds are few.
The sun is bright. My chariot, no hero's mount, awaits.
Let's tumble into it, and fly across, well, not the sky,
This salt-encrusted motorway, toward adventures
Undiscovered, treasures purchased, purses spent,
And, when the sun backs toward its doorway, over on
That distant bluff, we, too, will turn to go back home,
To reflect on a joyous day when dragons didn't come.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2020-02-06 at 19:02
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