And peddles were boats to travel the sea,
Then my imagination is content,
Because i've been inching my way closer to home,
Although my home hasn't been built.
Whoever thought progress would be made by sitting,
While others work for their reward,
I couldn't tell how far I've traveled,
Yet I could say it was worth the effort,
But when it's all said and done,
Once the fabric has returned to it's original place,
I'd repeated all the steps over again.
Yellow and white are guides,
No one said they were always meant to be followed,
lines and crosses are engraved in the grass,
Marking my now regular path,
Once seven have passed they're drawn again.
Two thirds never felt this way before,
Perfect in tension,
Something I can't say I had felt in the past,
But something I happily say I have
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