In pencil lines of ages past,
Idea maps were being drawn
Over the world.
Storytime in your wildest mind.
What a wonderful.
Magic animal.
Mother to child.
Singing a long song.
Set sail, seaworthy vessels.
Fill your holds with the sounds
Of daughters and sons
Wagging their tongues.
Written down in ink so clear,
Voices of a yesteryear.
Dreams are whispered in an ear.
|
Switch to Russian 
