Under a trellis of pine and oak
We’d hide with paper towels full
Of Cheerios and freshly filched figs.
The dried up stream bed
Became a deadly swirling river,
And lazy milk cows were the
Bloated, fire-breathing dragons.
You roamed the countryside
With terror encompassing the whites
Of your eyes. Muddy boots aren’t ladylike,
So I retired to reality.
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