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There is a sound
in the high, browning grass
that surrounds my narrow, winding path.
I think I can coax it out if I hum very quietly.
Yes, there it is: a waltz.
And now the refrain,
so obvious and self-contained.
I must repeat it on my way home or I'll forget.
And I'll call it my own invention
as none would imagine
this cobweb or that mist
draws its arms around me
and whispers secrets
as I turn to see
what I know
isn't there.

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