In pride my bare feet crushed the dew

of the morning field, before life taught me


I was as the dew, nothing more than mist

that had cooled into a tiny reflective globe


I apologize for who I used to be, fleeting

marauder of what I failed to understand


Remorse is not the end of wisdom, but yet

it seems a beginning, as I walk mornings


That I never imagined, my feet more worn

and yet more tender as I’m beside the point

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