Fancy

Fancy, we are right in the middle of a fairytale ending with many wonders… Fancy, your fairytales have come true… Fancy, the trunk of a tree has become full of vines… Fancy, butterfly wings have become your song of freedom… Fancy, the whish of a sea-shell has dropped moonlight on your feet… Fancy, “loves me-loves me not” has always told you “loves me”… Fancy, you are an impish stealing child on a candy field… and Fancy so that, the more you dream, the more fairy tales making you smile do not stop existing…