Sunday, June 16, 2013


Denizens of fancy stud dreams
Snagging reality's fraying seams
Inundating with profuse reams

Befuddled with fantasy, the old crank
From the deep wells of illusion drank
And into somnolence sank

The nature of that which real seemed
And how it was by the world deemed
Was, cogitated by countenances that beamed

Yet fancy unfolds her magic wings
Tenuously soldered, but with no strings
And a measure of relief brings

So truth and fancy jostle
From whose interstice emerges an apostle.

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