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Webs, Again
Young legs struggle to keep pace with
 kindred branches among the branches
 and leaves of spring; Fall is upon me.
 Pushing away the webs of adolescence
 and spiders, no longer preventing
 the ripening of our minds-
 or my mind.
 
 Puerile conversation brings wisdom-
 to me, confusion restrained with feigned knowledge.  
 Webs again.
 And then we are pursuing-
 not vain ideas- but beaches
 and streams and- escape 
 from the voices in the branches.
 
 The Stream is there with respect.
 Admiration flows.  Escorts are
 companions, not teachers,
 but show-ers;  and showers end 
 the game and we- I -
 must return.
 Towards the voices through the branches.

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