Our Happily-Ever-Afters are apples hanging from a tree.
We yearn to take a bite;
but stare as hard as we can,
they won't magically drop into our hands.
We have to climb.
***
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Moonlit
PoetryThese are thoughts born under the moon's glow; when sheep has run out, and sleep's a child playing hide and seek with the mind. Some moonlit verses from a pillow-hugging girl. *PTY | 20 [03.08.17]
