Freedom is a Dancer

Freedom is a dancer:
see how merrily she skips
needs no reply, nor answer
issues from her cherry lips.

She’s laughing, tossing golden hair
and caution to the wind
keeps spinning, merrily and fair
with winter far behind.

She isn’t fond of drudgery, 
but takes it in her stride:
the working day, which thoughts of play
cut clear through like a tide

of endless possibilities,
bright shining like the sun
through liminal infinities
though separate, all one.

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