Travels

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We’re walking on a road headed nowhere,
Lonely travelers with no place to go.
We retrace footsteps and breathe dusty air,
Lost in this world -- what do we have to show?
No destination, and no end in sight:
We’re blind, but we remember having seen
Those pastel petals in the pale sunlight,
And young birds newly hatched in spring serene.
Though we are deaf, we try to hear again
Sweet Clair de Lune on soft piano keys,
And we are wishing the sound to remain,
The notes cascading, quickly and with ease.
But our fond reveries have now ended;
We won’t have this life as we pretended.





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