The Echo

I wonder where the echo ends,

In tunnels or on mountaintops,

Or in a cavern where sound bends,

Or at a moment when time stops.

The echo mocks me like a fool,

Repeating phrases I may make,

Like children used to do in school,

Before my rattled heart would break.

It bounces briefly in the air,

Or skips like stones across a stream,

And softer, hardly being there,

It grows, until it loses steam.

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