If I stand and look at my garden
As we all must full of stubble
Or hopefully you planted a tree
Just so against a sickle moon
A boat pushing from shore
These blue blobs are the waves
You must cross said a small boy
To me it just looks like my life
And there on the opposite shore
This is the castle a brown smudge
His stained finger pointed to
And looked up at me to see
If I was grasping his intent
And if I was ready to go
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