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In The Walled Garden

Tuesday, April 25, 2017


Fog rolls in and hides the path;
once so sure was I of footing's hold.
Now each step is a feat of math;
no longer taken in confidence bold.

Assurance wained in mind's wandering;
lies and noise from deceivers of old.
Moving towards hopes sure beakoning;
confused, I transverse narrow road.

Sounds of circling wolves in pack,
I cry out I am all alone.
At last remembrance of light in pack;
feet need no longer to roam.