I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest. The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time. Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus. If I were to pluck on your heart strings would you strum on mine?
When she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. They wanted her to change back into what she always had been. But she had wings. — Dean Jackson
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