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I'm not grown up yet.
Dirties the snow as it melts.
With loss
who gains fortune?
The clay pot drops.
Beware the foggy path
of intention.
Who would imagine
such finely jagged edges,
unique shapes to emerge.
Smooth contours hide little
but where to look
where to know?
Blind as I am
I have still one cup to drink.
I have removed my shoes
The journey is long
and perilous.
