dorothy.

there’s magic in her eyes,

a rain of falling whispers,

a soul of golden waters,

a taste of sweet surrender.

 

there’s a dark cloud of longing

that hangs in her sky,

but she is the light,

a rainbow shining by.

 

a practice of patience,

a song of wishful pardon,

both occupy desire —

dearest daughter, be brave.

 

the path is kind of twisted,

the way is rather long,

but the road of yellow brick

has been waiting all along.

 

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