We are going to make it,
Thirty five steps to distant air.
I almost can’t believe it,
What will we do when we are there?
My friend, the list is endless.
For centuries they sought us out.
Writers, You mean.
People who words do sprout?
Indeed, the place is Fantastic,
A land where all ideas are free.
I can feel the bubbles bubbling.
That they had been looking for one as me.
Do burst those bubbles once we’re in,
They tend to disparage a haughty ink.
No need, meek resides in me.
If I were only as bold as you seem.
Lose the thought! You are just as pleasing as I!
No. So tall you are, and I am yet made.
I fear when we arrive, I will be sank in your stride.
But its quite simple. You’re standing in mud!