I tell you there’s no ending, no straightening the straights,

and the twists and turns of life will remain unending.

Where do those paths go, via many trees bowed by breeze,

and thorny bushes with fresh and old blood specks to show.

Some are freeted by time, just lumbering and slumbering,

as stuttering takes them on to old, past their posturing prime.

Bored by ster...

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