One hundred feet, turn left for
lifetime companionship.
Turn left.
Proceed for fifty years.
Die.
We are without will
The adventure is lost
We follow obediently
The commands of an omniscient dashboard GPS.
We dawdle no more on our way to point B.
The roses have stopped breathing
No more sweet-scented breeze
Needs beckon the long absent ambling fools.
The adventure is gone
No more: wrong turns; distractions;
Flowery, impractical discoveries;
or unanticipated joy.
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