Woods of Evergreen
He knows the dance of lines at night,
and their expanding, wayward trip,
convergent margins that unite
the perils and the clipons' grip.
Defiantly the speed directs
where once, per life, lines sternly meet,
the trip's third destiny elects
to be horizons' incomplete.
And scenes return to years before
abstruse, night's ambits take to where
the lines embellish roads' decor
with precognitions' blue affair.
But who transforms converging states
beyond the compass' distant knots,
becomes a smile that far abates,
and his horizons' linking thoughts.
And those who dare to pass beyond
their speeding dreams of years eighteen,
of margins' arbiters, self-spawned
become and woods of evergreen.
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