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A niggling feel,
deep down hints.

Something is not quite right,
but no, the timing is still unripe.

The companions are absent,
the moment to meet yet unknown.

Only clue I’ve got,
is “plod, plod”.

The route ahead blurry,
path beyond stands invisible.

Nonetheless, fragile trust I hold,
to walk on with faith,
believe the cloudiness will soon pass me by.

I go forward,
stepping along the faintly outlined road.
Plod, plod.

 

 

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