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The Chase

In the distance flees my quarry
While I ponder upon my story.
This chase of mine is slowed by nary
A stop upon my mind’s vast prairie.

I time my hunt with proper cadence,
Watching for my foe’s appearance.
If I should hope to bring him to,
I must be sharp, my vice subdued.

As I follow, search my soul.
I continue on patrol,
Taking help from any quarter.
Advancing still, my chase grows shorter.

I crest the hill and in the distance
See my failure of persistence;
Far off, my adversary fades,
As I collapse, weak and dismayed.

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  1. Posted January 8, 2011 at 4:03 am | Permalink

    I like this.