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Weaving a Life
and so time marches, into the unknown;
whilst behind a past, intimately known
remains truly, ones own.
tempus fugit, dragging us along;
leaving behind an after-burn, and a song
that drifts on in its wake.
look ahead, to the future;
harken to the past, sutured
only in a mirror of backward glances.
on walkway of roads, a map yet to tread,
walking on tendrils of a open thread,
that weaves itself into
a tapestry of life.
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