Are you lost

The unfinished text then imbibes from the library of all works, robs the graves of the greats, crosses thresholds with a piercing vision, stops to smell the roses in their thousands, looks death in the face, depicts land, sky and sea, loses the reader and then puts a map in their hand, plays the role of lover, then runs away, hiding in caves to then cross mountaintops spanning miles and miles. A text must reach out, it is the incarnation of children, family, nature, and humour, from the clouded and clear sky to the rivers and arid plains. It’s the ability to know, to climb with courage, swim or sometimes excavate. Texts form the embalmed relics of minds in writing, they are the eternal search for lostness through learning and love.

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