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​A silent walk within nature's footprint, 
Shaking the heavy hands of time.
Our days have arrived and gently passed,
Gone now to the place thereafter.
We walk in circles, staring into the dust.
So may wrinkled hands finally crack,
Sprouting feathers from aged fingertips,
And wings of youth unfold from weary arms. 
May this moment be now,
As there is nothing left
But to dance.