Soon the morning will come,

And this will all be a dream.

A lightning thought,

In a floating sea.

Once held in our palms,

Softer than dandelion seeds.

A moment so pure,

Of crushed rose petals and flowing streams.

Red staining white linen and,

Washed down the silken weaves.

But melancholy sings into the elegant night.

It’s stars dim and guard the light.

So, not to escape,

This Neverland sight.


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