a crossroads poem
X Marks the Spot
This shallow river will lead you nowhere
But to its next bend meandering above
The stillness of the mountain
And beyond an intersection all-forgotten
Into a hollow holding hordes
of hidden gold.
That empty road is never-ending
It winds besides the greenery of scenes so calm
And crossing over the bridge of desolation
Into the hollow holding hordes
of hidden gold.
***
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