Run with words like a string on a kite flying up in the air

As it deftly brings you to a loss of breath

From the sensation of floating off to the very tips of the toes

Lightly grazing the smooth concrete,

Running subtle vibrations up to the crown of the head.

String together a thread of the most euphonious words

Like onomatopoeia, which is the most honest in that it is just what it is.

The simplicity adherent to an unusually vowel dominated name

Characterized by the inability to be deceiving.

And on the surface it looks complicated, but beneath the consonants

There remains a beautiful sound,

Pure and simple.

Or the word “The”

An article placed before any significant Subject,

With a root stemming from God.

And “The” is everywhere.

We chant it like little droplets of water hitting the surface of the skin

With a patter in soft whispering puffs,

Pleasant and promising of the possibility

Of the wisp of a rainbow against the sky blue infinite,

Breathtakingly nostalgic of childhood when there really did exist a magical pot o’ gold.

Sighing with a deep longing in the heart

With wordless thoughts that will stay sacred in the mind,

Even though someone out there understands it

Complete without words.

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