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A DESIREABLE STREETCAR

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  • A DESIREABLE STREETCAR

    Little blue birds with no legs at all,
    Having to live forever on the wing –
    They ride the high winds, but never fall -
    No ears have been blessed to hear them sing.
    Beauty’s the wind upon which they glide,
    A flight of Truth they were cursed to keep.
    High above the storms and hawks they ride
    Without bush, budding branch, or nest to sleep.
    They survive on only rain and sunshine
    As they drift on dreams of others up high;
    Clothed in a sorrow almost divine,
    On a bed of wind, ‘neath a roof of sky.
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