“Trouble can be interesting. . . . Failure doesn’t have to mean failure.”
Alongside a wayside creek,
Rip van Winkle sat and thought
About why this was
One of his favorite spots
To think about why this was.
The deepest forest was not
The one heroically tramped
By skillful persons,
By artists of survival
Who could make camp in a cave,
Ink from spit, fire from guano,
And money from their memoirs.
The green wood hummed for the wrong
At the margins where they’d gone.
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