12.17.10

I lose my path,
More than a few times each year
And each time I hath,
The will to bury my constant fear
Of lull and loss,
Of all the things I hold so dear

But I am glad,
That I stumble upon the overgrown grass
For if not I had,
These places I might sometimes crash
I would not have,
The way I call my righteous path

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