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In the glade of triple presence,

we once danced with rhythmic essence,

and soon we fell into a trance,

and lost our freedom to that dance.

Then the three with making vision,

showed some ways for our provision.


So hope sprang up from calloused fingers,

and an industry that lingers,

and brought a system of reward,

believing comfort could be stored,

but what arose could only mirror,

that first failure, that first tear.


Wisdom dances steps so light,

through the presence of what's right,

if dancers hold a bit too dearly,

there is no way they can see clearly.

Proven truth is still the treasure,

freedom pays for in full measure.