When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?
At five, I cherished tales I spun,
Weaving worlds in golden sun.
Now I write, the dream lives on,
A storyteller never gone.
Ink and soul, a perfect blend,
A tale begun that knows no end.
When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?
At five, I cherished tales I spun,
Weaving worlds in golden sun.
Now I write, the dream lives on,
A storyteller never gone.
Ink and soul, a perfect blend,
A tale begun that knows no end.