A wee cottage rested in sunken grass
Playing real
Shirking off that “mirage feel”
Nothing shimmered, giving the hint of an illusion
So the bent spine approached

Existence was still rock-like
With no cracks

All of a sudden
Birds began to chirp
Ripping at a pleasant fabric

The bent spine winced
Coming closer to the cottage
It was palatial and the bird’s chirping
Increased in volume

The grass became greener
The sky an excruciating blue
Pleasant laughter from inside the cottage

Too much reality
Caused the mirage to come
Crashing down

Red outlined a bubbling vision
And appreciation went out
The cottage window


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