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Hidden
Just the wind,
a rustling of leaves,
upon the ground.
or something more perhaps?
The mind will tell lies,
such a feverish imagination,
but is it?
What walks behind, in shadow,
in the places one cannot see?
walk faster, a quickened pace provides
distance.
But then it becomes present,
a flash on the right,
relax, there's no other way,
no reason to fight.
