They come in many ways
Seldom do they seem small
Usually in huge doses of blues
That solving them seems such an ordeal

Wishing my troubles away
Is like wishing for a fairy godmother
Whenever one has been sorted
There’s always another waiting to crop up

So what would you do
When faced with your troubles
Keep them in your closet
Or throw them out your window

Me, I would hang them out to dry
Then try to iron out the creases
And neatly place them in order
So that sorting them won’t be a problem — I think!

By C. E. Pereira

In My Dreams I reached out and touched reality!

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