There is always part of a story,
That is waiting to be told.
And inside my head,
Scenes constantly unfold.
Sometimes it never stops,
That story inside my head.
It seems my train of thought,
Works overtime in bed.
When I try to go back to sleep,
To return to my peaceful slumber,
The stories’ pleas inside my mind,
Only increase in their number.
So I think, and I think,
‘Till I think I am done,
But that stubborn old story,
Says it’s only just begun.
So when the story finally stops,
I feel as blissful as can be,
And I know that sometime soon,
Another will wait for me.
There will always be a story,
Waiting to be said,
And once I let them in,
They might never leave my head!
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