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What would it be
To have on the wall A picture of a mud hole With pigs flying free? Can you imagine Lying on the bed Staring at the ceiling At fluffy clouds flying? Wouldn’t it be wonderfully For you to see pigs fly From a corner up high Winging to your sky? I sit alone in this room In a hand having a spoon Imagine I pick some mud On a pig I leave a spot. I give them treir pink color Different wing every hour They’r smiling and squeling Through soap bubbles breathing. Happy I picture that My mind has gone wild They are my creation Alive in my imagination. 25 martie 2005, Constanþa
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