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When you turn hope on high, you’ll see that sometimes it all fall’s away
Like a lone tree hoping,
It won’t be struck down in the storm.
When the tree tossed it’s sadness to the wind, it returned with bright colors of green,
Like a baby given a lollipop when it’s good.
The swirl of loneliness sounds like the echoed cry of Alice,
falling down that rabbit hole at the bass of the tree,
But at the center of boredom there lay three boxes, like three gifts under the Christmas tree.
A blue box, a red box, and a purple box.
The blue box feels like the tightness in your throat right before you cry.
The red box sounds like the loud cracks and booms of a fire claiming a house.
And the purple box tastes like salty french fries dipped in vanilla ice cream.
When Alice tiptoed through the valley of happiness, she found that she should run like wild horses on their way to their next destination.