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Gamarabi traveled the world Strapped to the side of a donkey. Under waxing moons they walked With a saddle bag and a blanket. How low the roads would go! The smell of salt by the seaside. And passing strangers tipped their hats As they trotted the beach at low tide. And looking up they would see the stars As they walked along the desert floor. A brilliant sky that shows its face To only those who travel late. They passed a tree at the edge of a wood That was creaking like a door hinge. Black up against a darkening sky Of indigo and orange. And on they rode through wind and snow Crossing creeks where brambles grow. They wound up a path where the hills begin And treetops were bent from Siberian winds. Under waning moons they climbed and climbed Till hills became a mountain range. To unknown heights far away To places where the sun is strange. |
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