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Twenty-nine comes charging up a
hill,
Winded yet quite willing to do more.
Even so, the thing behind the door
Not only can't come in, but never will.
There may be joy or bitter pain in store,
Yet life must wait in silence, soft and still.
Now's the time to shape one's destiny,
In the process coming to one's place;
Nor will the ego-lust end easily,
Eventually a journey, not a race. |
