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The Minds Liberty

 The mind, with its own eyes and ears, 
May for these others have no care; 
No matter where this body is, 
The mind is free to go elsewhere.
My mind can be a sailor, when This body's still confined to land; And turn these mortals into trees, That walk in Fleet Street or the Strand.
So, when I'm passing Charing Cross, Where porters work both night and day, I ofttimes hear sweet Malpas Brook, That flows thrice fifty miles away.
And when I'm passing near St Paul's I see beyond the dome and crowd, Twm Barlum, that green pap in Gwent, With its dark nipple in a cloud.

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