We are the children of a child
Born of paper, scissors, and ink
Where others play with plastic
We’re born of necessity, of poverty
And yet we set forth, fragile voyagers
One day, our child’s mind will carry them
To places undreamt of and realms fantastic
We will be long gone then, ephemeral
Memories inspiring memories
And yet, we set forth, fragile voyagers
Bound for the moon in helmets of crayon

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