On one high mountain
Looking at the path from whence she came
It suddenly dawn's
'I have to climb down'
How do you descend
Such perfect places
Without becoming
Weighed down
With the dirt and the hurt
That made you arise
On aching feet
Yet leave with
Clean and gloriously light
Shoulders
That proclaim the story
Of what is used to be
And how it is
Now
And yet the question remains
'Will it stay?'
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