11 August 2007
City
A river flows outside my room,
I bathe in it every morning,
The daffodils next to it bloom,
As dew dies for the evening.
None of the above is true,
I hear horns and wheels pass,
Trees and birds are but a few,
It's all just the traffic of Class.
The noise tells me my home,
Among other forts and caves,
Beneath a heat and dust dome,
A path this tar endlessly paves.
There is a mountain next to my bed,
A golden eagle visits me every night,
Moon herself caresses the lovely red,
Dreams beckon me to leave, I might!
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