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| Image:blog DD |
Thought is like fine wet clay in the hands of a master potter.
The potter be skilled like the almighty, beauty of your kind cometh forth.
With a little imagination, we call them fantasies.
When they come to us in the dead of sleep, dreams they are.
On this night illuminated by the moon, Ye of a beautiful mind, sleep well.
May your dreams bring a smile to your face when you wake.
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