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			Path
			Before me, a door beside it, another                              and on, does this repeat. Each hides a path for future. And here I stand, staring at paths, putting a foot on each, then pulling back.                                      Few forbidding.                                      None paved in guiding light. A path I did choose,                                                     before, traveling it high on white horse,           'till it faded                      and the only way to go was back,                                                           to now.
					Zachary M. W. Little February 9th, 2000