What can I see, the road or my own passage?
No worn out shoes are ever strange.
A story becomes a legend on the last page.
Which winter ever paints the leaf jade?
Love is always free even in a broken heart's cage.
I do not know where I am going in my own haste.
My fingers are still touching my fence.
My worn out shoes still sketch some footprints on my life's page.
Where I Meet Myself : Anahit's Muse by Anahit Arustamyan
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