Meeting Myself

There’s that bend in the road
You do not know
The hole you might have stepped over
It may have led
To the other corner
You do not know

Because the sound is heard
Assumption is made:
It has to be the sweet melodious song
Of that happy chirping
Oblivious- to- harm bird
You just do not know

But this here now
The sword you do not see
Decorated by little white wings
That flew after the darkness
Is what may or could be
You might not know

For sunshine momentarily protrudes
Through the oaks around the bend
And dries up the puddle in the hole
So there is no other corner
That may tell you the why or the when
Or the what that may have transpired
You will never know

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