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The Silver Gate

May 27, 2010

A poem from my secondary school books…

Through the silver gate is a secret place, where there stands a little man, a smile on his face.
Beyond the grass is a carpet of green, the man waves his hands so he can be seen.
A light in the sky flies without sound, it hits the tiny man straight to the ground.
I run to see if the man is OK, but end up running away, the wrong way.
Out of the gate and down some steps, back to my bed, I lay down and slept.
My pillowcase now as soft as clouds, I dream of the silver gate for hours.


From → Creative

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