the quill tells all
on any given day
remarkable magic,
you might say
it squiggles and
wiggles, showing the way
perfection in
humility for which we pay
the story transcends
time to be sure
it cannot ignore
reality, be it demure
what it parlays we
must all endure
if our hopes and
dreams fall in manure
and yet, the fine
line we come to walk
imagine how ideal a
future we talk
as if in our day we
line it with chalk
and never do we fake
it with a balk
indeed life sends us
stories in dreams
and the truth is not
always as it seems
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