Watch as the mouse on the wheel willingly runs;
Gaining speed than slowing,
Fatiguing yet not knowing.
See the train door open near the newspaper stand;
Watch the masses flock,
Guided by the clock.
Routine has held creativity captive.
The art of thinking hibernates.
To dream is to be young and naive.
To laugh is to engage in folly.
Lay your eyes on the Sturt’s Desert Pea which parades its beauty;
In the dust it blooms,
Knowing no bounds.
Listen to the non-melodious singing of the evening cockatoos;
Not conforming to pitch,
In dissonance they unite
Release the fear of failing.
Imprint each sense with love.
To dream is to be liberated.
To laugh is to live.