Arcs of angry dust arose, as if awakened unceremoniously,
From every grotesque scar imprinted on the dunes,
By the rider's horse.
The rider rode on and on, probing the virgin trail,
...
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as long as you are not sure where you are heading, you will lose your way even if the hoof prints remain, they could lead to nowhere. lovely poem this, thanks for sharing-10
Thanks Loke