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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#419091voted by our readers
By Anonymous
When we’re younger, we see things. The wind as an artist Molding the clay of clouds from a bird to a tree. We see the fairy in the flower, Feel our wings as we fly in our dream...
When we’re younger, we see things. The wind as an artist Molding the clay of clouds from a bird to a tree. We see the fairy in the flower, Feel our wings as we fly in our dream...