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There was a path, the familiar path, the oneI've very often not yet ventured onAround a mountainside, cut level, a sheerFall right, a sheer wall left, a ledge a pairMight amble hand in hand on round the contourAnd there you were, not you, nearest the wallAnd there was I, not I, nearest the fallAnd you were your age but the hair was wrongI looked like me but many years too youngAnd on a bend where this path swung out of view