Pure

They can have their money,

It will not make them whole,

They can have their feast,

It will not feed their soul.

We’ll clothe ourselves in daffodils,

Feed ourselves with summer air,

We have nothing as of substance,

But joy we have to spare.

We’ll dance with snowflakes in the winter,

Laugh with flowers in the spring,

We may not have much,

But my dear, we have everything.

-SilentSymphonies

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