Familiar is this earthly language, these archives full to the brim.
It must be how the world got magic, these rhymes of life and limb.
A screen is a safe place, our havens are our keyboards, and kind strangers get these records of how our work expands.
This place is detailed by a thousand ready hands, with brush strokes and with pen, oh what a joy to be a witness to this magic-making again and again and again.
Who would've known, when I was new, the only thing my poems mean is
Thank you.
Posted in response to the challenge YWP is ....
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