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w. I am driving through a mountain Through which someone once carved the way. Perhaps it was once a tunnel or path Used in a more ancient day. Up ahead I see the Smoky Mountains Or so they seem to me. It matters not Whether theyre in Tennessee. The little pond that one might miss If driving by too fast. In my mind, Im trekking down the valley And up the mountain path. These are not just trees, roads, and such They are so much more. They are the keys, the path Through imaginations open door. By MARIA CAMP Monday, April 18, 2005