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This island, loneliness recome,
has washed my feet with lost white sands.
The course has smoothed with clays undone
by fruitful trees, no reprimands.

Those paths I tread so long last found
befriend my feet as never gone.
The reed-bound hut, world views around,
opinions not, in Erehwon.

New friends, new books acquaint the shelves
to fare the time amidst the waves
forever curling on themselves
the lost desires and worldly craves.

Contentment reigns idyllic shores
against the months of star-eyed tears.
Perhaps one day, past nevermores,
I’ll sail again.  And burn the piers.

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