Blue sky hangs like a tapestry over a garden where Papa and I play. Smiley sun warms my cheeks. Darting breeze brushes the tip of my nose, and I tell Papa that I wish to stay in Wisconsin forever.
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Here grows an offbeat volume; one which presses to achieve a dialogic bridge connecting the literary mind with its creative soul while granting quarter to the fallible hand. Welcome, friends, to Vagabond Wordworks.
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