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The Petrel
Peter's namesake, skittering
Across the restless sea,
or flittering
Through troughs of dark uncertainty.
Wheeling now, it hugs a wall
Of water, hangs on air,
and lightly falls
To touch an unseen something there.
Too late, too late, when trapped in mist,
It turns: the path has gone.
The waves insist
The only way to go...is on.

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