Somewhere far, a fairytale land unfolds,
With flower-lined lanes, its beauty untold.
Pure, serene air, like a dream in flight,
Waters flow soft as a bluebird's feather, light.
Children play in the city's gentle heart,
Women shop, men work, life's peaceful art.
Little ones chase butterflies vivid and free,
Birds in treetops, a harmonious melody.
A hidden place, never meant to be seen,
Preserved in time, where nature's colors gleam.
A place I yearn for, in dreams I see,
In that serene land, where I long to be.
YOU ARE READING
It's Still 12a.m.
PoetryAs the clock's final whisper embraced the dying day, darkness enveloped my room. Raindrops danced upon the fog-kissed windowpane. In the gentle glow of a dimmed lamp, I sat at my table, pen poised to capture the thoughts that flowed from the depths...
