Kite (an acrostic poem)


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Know how to fly, little one?

It involves string, cloth, structure, and magic

The first three are needed to make the object

Eventually the last is provided by the young ones watching it soar

Create (an acrostic poem)

Can’t make anything out of nothing

Really that’s a crock of bull

Everyone knows storytellers weave lies into whole cloth

And wrap you up inside nice and snug

That’s the stuff godhood is made of

Even if the magic eventually fades into memory

 

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Legend (an acrostic poem)

Little more could be said, much less done

Everyone just stared as she walked across the floor

Gwen had accomplished the nigh impossible

Eyewitnesses would spread her story from here

New tales even more fanciful would be spun from the cloth of this truth

Destiny can kiss her ass.  She owned that bitch

 

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