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by James Walton (follow)
Sancho, it is a time to hurry
this ochre land of sulphur
is poultice to a failing quest
stalked by my own journey
I grow afraid these robes
of castaway identity bleed

Don, it is time to sit and eat
take this moment of sand
remember we scolded those merchants
who in the village square
put out the eyes of bullfinches
to make them sing the better

Fools, I have carried your puny world
of silliness a donkey pretending to be a horse
my burden the weight of aspired hope
one walks the other talks
my bray of windmills calculating the distance
how the blind chorus circles before dropping

Don Quichotte - by Honore Daumier, 1868
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