A Poet's Dream
If I could be
a hillside in the early spring,
something to make a poet sing;
I'd be
adorned with
dancing daffodils.
If I could be
a river flowing wild and free,
transporting life from hills to sea;
I'd challenge
many able
poets' skills.
If I could be
the sinking sun at day's demise,
weaving crimson ribbons through cerulean skies;
a poet's
dream I
would fulfill.
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