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Saturday Morning

I’ll hop in a rocket

then shoot to the moon;

I’ll set off for Saturn,

arriving by noon;

I’ll put on my helmet

and count down from ten – 

the places I’ll go 

when I pick up a pen.

 

I’ll saunter through streets

in Victorian times,

cavorting with crooks

and committing some crimes;

I’ll linger with thieves

as they lurk in their den – 

the stuff that I’ll see

when I pick up a pen.

 

I’ll roam with the Romans,

geek out with the Greeks;

I’ll train with some troopers,

discern their techniques,

then battle my demons

again and again – 

the things that I’ll do 

when I pick up a pen.

 

And I’ll conjure a saviour,

loving and warm,

to help me escape

from my family storm;

I’ll try to come home

but I cannot say when – 

I’m simply too busy

alone with my pen.

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