by Cecilia Wynn
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I know that you're afraid
Of paths that others made,
But I just can't feel the same
When your trail shines like morning rays.
You light my wounded sun-stripped soul
In surreal and sundry ways.
And though the path you thoroughfare
Runs like a scar across your back,
And the ground you've cleared has piled up
And tries to stop you in your tracks.
You follow still, you're steady
Making many match your pace.
Even despondent drunken dreamers
Marvel at your metered race.
Following with unswerving grit
An idea that I want.
It must be much more than an idea
To make you lead without a thought.