When I grow up someday,
I’ll paint my house paradise blue,
An oasis among the streets.
Wind chimes will line the porch,
And will ring like almost forgotten songs
Spilling into the depths of a cavern.
Proud, leafy trees will hold birdhouses high.
Like a giant yellow ball of joy,
A forsythia bush will guard my house.
From out of my open windows,
Wandering aromas, sweet as honeycomb,
Will swirl and spin and pirouette.
Over my house, clouds will become
Puffy white maracas and caterpillars.
The air will shed its smog,
And I’ll prop the front door ajar,
As thunder growls in the distance.
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