Pilgrimage

chris/ September 16, 2000

The two stepped out, their mission clear
They must escape that place
But relief was not so near
And so they set their pace
They walked across the open field
And made it to the street
Although the snow would hardly yield
Their goal they had to meet
Their socks were wet; their ears were cold
But still they walked along
Though not to do this they were told
Their wills were much too strong
The path they took was not the best
But onward they would go
They had to hide from all the rest
For no one ought to know
Around the corner, almost there
They seem to contemplate
The benefits of warm dry air
And caffeine in their veins
They find relief from all this stress
As through the door they walk
Hi, how many, says the waitress
Just two to smoke and talk.

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