Poetry: Untitled

Many miles have been traversed,
Occasional mileposts are visible through the dust.
Worn boots have been cast aside,
As though they were the breadcrumbs left to follow.
Some fall by the wayside,
Some cover the intervening distance.
Most are a relief and welcome respite,
Others carry too much weight for two to bear.
The road carries on and is interminable,
Broken at times with a longed for change.
The road is never empty,
Travelers are abundant.
It is a trifle,
As all walk alone.
Rarely is there a pause for the weary,
The path ahead demands to be traversed.
Often is there a welcome indulgence,
Though the walker should beware their step.
Where the is fruit,
A serpent may well be found

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