Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash
My Sleepyhead is mulling
Painting pictures in my night
Like spasms in my chasms
They hint though out of sight
Passing quickly leaving afterglows
On all that went before
Suggesting to my dream machine
Something washed up on a shore
Writing story books fantastic
That we never quite recall
How greater things beyond our grasp
Do not exist at all
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