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Her head so gently rested on her pillow late at night
She closes her eyes to the shining moonlight
She drifts off to dream in her land of fantasies
Where she can laugh and dance
And her mind is at ease

There are poets writing, some reading out loud
There are choirs singing, soloist standing so proud
Reminding her now of Shakespearian times
When the worlds entertainment were his beautiful rhymes

Composers, composing with black, ink soaked hands
Bringing music to life with instumental bands
Masquerade Balls, thrown by the queen
A tacky charade where no one is seen

She awakes to a childs voice by her head
"It's time to wake up, will you get out of bed?"
She stretches her arms and lets out a yawn
And resolves to the fact that her dream has long gone

She sits with her coffee, next to her child
And thinks back on her dream, so wild
Of lovers and poets, composers and queens
And thinks to herself, "This is better than any of those 'ol things."

------
Jessica Fausnaugh


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