On the ground or in the air,
People flock
from here to there
And if they
walk or bike or drive,
Eventually
they’ll arrive.
Their journeys
may be short or long,
Their need
to travel weak or strong,
Yet
everybody on the move
Succumbs,
somehow, to travel’s groove.
For if they
didn’t need to be
En route,
they’d linger comfortably
Close by or
in the hugs of home,
To read a
book or write a poem.
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