The mundane is crippling the imagination The drudge takes the soul in its merciless grip A wandering fancy is brought to cessatin The soldiers of duty have cancelled my trip Reality striking my barricades in spasm Jolting the spirit if wonderous yearn The hole it inflicted becoming a chasm The words disappear on the pages they burn Be gone daily duty and leave me to wander Fresh smelling fields or in dungeons so bleak Breaking the spell means that I'd have to squander The depths if the person I so fondly seek.
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