Behind this wall of nice, wherein,
with many polished stones, built up,
adamantine and unyielding,
sunlit, smooth, foreboding to the touch
of newcomers, I have housed a labyrinthine path
for climbers, seeking solitary green,
past thicket of trees, dilapidated fence,
down stony path with hanging branches,
narrow and severe,
with rush of river,
through fog and mist,
promising little except
shared respite from the crowd.
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