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I keep on running, and running,
Struggling to take hold of the prize.
Listening to my heart,
And the counsel of the wise.
I forget what is behind,
My faith is my bread.
Struggling daily toward what might be,
There lies somewhere joy up ahead.
Distraught yes, at times,
With this imperfect world.
Yet only the defective lonely oyster,
Produces the "pearl".
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