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s I
sit on the grass, looking up at the sky,
Faint neighing can be heard near by,
And against the sky's pale blues and grays,
A winged horse with the clouds plays.
It's eyes of bronze; it's wings strong as fists,
Dances in and out of the morning mist,
The hooves are black as ebony,
I wish I could fly with grace as he.
And straight to Mt. Olympus he soars,
For he is friend to Aries, God of War,
I am so sorrowful to see him leave,
Because he is Pegasus, a mind's fantasy.
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