Moving on,
down that road,
I call life,
leaving behind,
potholes and perfect
black tarmacadam.

This road of mine,
like all others, imperfect.
Full of bends, secrets,
and seldom sweet surprises.

Sometimes it widens,
allowing others to grace me,
with their presence, companions.

This track, that I travel, will
constantly diminish rubber until the end.

Myself, Like the Wheels.

The End

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