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Michael Bates
Soul Searching’s Right of Way
So long as this trail wends
over hills, down dales,
lies steeped in sunlight, babbled
to by a passing brook—
on those grounds we spend a summer
day, hour after hour,
until dusk comes, and with it
a trail lurking in the dark…
Summer nights are heavenly sent—
when the moon beams,
lone stars cluster together.
In time, shadows show up,
some standing, others on the go—
between then and dawn
they appear everywhere, without
crossing our path.
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