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Above the Clouds
Sweet smell of fresh-cut grass floods my sensece,
while hearing nothing but sqeaking, old leather.
Trotting above a tiny town, refusing to look down.
Miles and miles of undescovered adventure awaits,
on trails winding wildly, while wind whips through tangled hair.
Galloping gradually leads to soaring.
An untaimed world beckons,
but we choose to linger in this moment.
Above the coulds, where we fly.

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