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Cale Young Rice

(1872-1943 / United States)

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The Mystic

There is a quest that calls me,
   In nights when I am lone,
The need to ride where the ways divide
   The Known from the Unknown.
I mount what thought is near me
   And soon I reach the place,
The tenuous rim where the Seen grows dim
   And the Sightless hides its face.

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