ah, this path
a slippery slope
made of sweet ice
upon lips of my feet
can I ever cross
with no memory prints
of the past
can I ever grip
with no foot holds
left from our lineage
can I ever see
with no water cans
kept by mothers
can I ever feel clouds
with no fear of falling
written on my palm
ah, this path of virtue
can I ever traverse
with no shadow behind
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