On wings from fairies, float these wholesome thoughts, from blessed books, and bottles frozen from, the fridge that freezes quicker than it ought, I slowly wait, my mind must now be thawed. Ideas too often carried on in haste, though, "fast" ain't wrong, it's slowliness that has, a wholesomeness, it chews enough to taste. I hope that I can slow down to a pace, to hold with hands that carry kinder thoughts, which have been stilled, and can be trusted in. The head must be a precious place, for sure, I'll never treat it like a garbage bin.
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