All Roads Poem by James McLain
All Roads
I can't see where we all go,
if blind some choose to stay.
Arms that wrapped so far around,
that place we wish to play.
Looking out at where you are,
there's nothing left to say.
If you wait here long enough,
each road will lead to me.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: green
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4/27/2024 1:56:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
nothing; left to say, good one.