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Two paths to take – or three, or four –
Which excites the peregrine in us that soars
High above to spy down below
For solid branch: to nest, to grow.

But swooping and circling is arduous Search
For too many woody arms extend homes to perch
For when I on one sturdy branch alight
An imagined Other tempts me – “Launch again, to flight!”

Search leads to weariness, and weariness to fear
Of always moving, but never getting near
The end.

But remember the Lord, dear son,
For He forges out of many paths, one.



  1. Who’s this by?

    • by me!

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