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by Lisa Lopez Snyder
I thought it was a floating cloud,
And when I sat up, I said out loud,
I laid back in bed,
my hands crossed behind my head,
the shadows across the lowered shade,
fluttering like white butterflies they played.
I fell asleep to see a wintry wood,
A snow-covered oak so tall it stood,
draped in a layer of cotton ball,
it seemed so big,
I so small.