Up a stone-strewn path,
Under the eaves of asparagus,
Past the last old rotting log,
There is a way to walk.
I go meandering, and
soon realize that I am going up
a mountain.
The trees hold me lovingly as I go by.
The sweetness of the air sustains me.
I stop for a drink of cold, pure water.
I have never had water before now.
Endlessly, I wander. Until I stop.
There is a clearing, and I am dreaming that
I can see forever
from this mountaintop.
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