An errant knight,
I mount my faithful steed
post tea-time,
charge through bramble weed
to rescue my fair children from their learning
together, we race past Lochness-shaped lake,
pause to let pass three ducklings,
then swiftly canter
below the ever-changing canopy
to vanquish all melancholy.
Our smiles, the swords we brandish
on our noble quest to be ourselves
in the land of aphantasia and uniformity.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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