She exists,
on crossroads,
in her mind,
wavering,
staggering herself,
to and fro,
where,
should she go,
here and there,
maybe a bit,
of everywhere,
so many turns,
directions of a world,
leading to,
uncertain gold,
not of money,
or,
necessary greed,
simply a place,
where,
stories of grace,
unfold,
into days of old.
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