I found myself upon a road.
    It was so wide, that “larger way”,
    where throngs marched on, each with his load,
    and with a list of debts to pay.

    My joyful heart turned discontent.
    It turned against that “larger way.”
    I found some byways heaven sent
    where all alone I’d dance and play.

    Now lately one or two bold bods
    have joined me on my wayward track
    and now I’d stake you any odds
    not one of us is going back.


    Amidst the shame and all the stresses,
    picking up my dole
    to feed obscure and sore recesses
    in the redness of my soul
    so far beyond fragile caresses,
    can I admit I am not whole,
    but only straw that one confesses
    before hiding, dark as coal,
    counting on the one who blesses
    even what I broke and stole
    from the hoppers and the presses
    as I tried to fill my bowl,
    and with rags and torn off tresses
    made a claim upon parole?
    For, with all my many messes,
    I am an ordinary soul.

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