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              Glowing lines of shining argent, runes of fire,
                  Marching on a simple field of sable glass,
              Bring into my mind the words and thoughts entire
                  Coming from the hands of people that I pass.

              I am but a traveller upon the highway,
                  Wandering the endless miles of copper road,
              Going where my modem takes me, going my way,
                  Deep within the web of light, a single node.

                       Copyright 1990 by Rich Steiner
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