Some celebrate, and some hang their faces
in self-imposed shame.
Even those who smile at the face that just fought
through the cosmos, think to themselves,
I hope this vale you fought to enter treats you well.
They suspect freedom is hers while the world remains transparent.
While her eyes dance at the mere flickering of
nights into daylight. While her feet sing with
little anklets, chan, chan, chan, not yet accustomed to dirt.
While the only view she gets makes her look up and forward.
Oh, look at that face, conceding might say.
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