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There’s a rock

Lodged in a hole.

At the base of a big,

Green,

Tree.

I have run past it hundreds of times,

Maybe more.

I wonder

What’s behind it?

Today I stop. Stoop. Grab hold of it.

Mossy. Slippery. Wet.

I tug, heaving, careful of my

Back against the strain

It comes free.

Now, at last,

I can see

Down the hole.

And I’m proud of myself for having stopped,

When I could have kept on running.