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The leaning tower of pisa finally becoming straight

If I were summoned,

to create a treasure,

I would take:

 

The rage of a tornado and the crashing waves in the deep blue sea,

the cold icicles forming on a polar bear,

the leaning tower of pisa finally becoming straight.

 

The clock striking midnight at the ballroom,

the smell of hot donuts at Hunstanton beach,

the hydra’s eyes staring at you.

 

The sledge gliding across the snow on Laplands floor,

the tea stained treasure map in a glass bottle at sea,

the redness of mar taking over the night sky.

 

The mermaid with a real hair brush,

the galaxy disappearing out of sight,

the fire dragon dashing down your spine.

 

The painfully slow movements of a sloth,

the wildfires tearing down the forest,

the amazing Paris thumping to the ground.

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