__^__ __^__ ( ___ )--------------------------------( ___ ) | / | _____ _ | \ | | / | | __ \ | | | \ | | / | | |__) |__ ___| |_ _ __ _ _ | \ | | / | | ___/ _ \ / _ \ __| '__| | | | | \ | | / | | | | (_) | __/ |_| | | |_| | | \ | | / | |_| \___/ \___|\__|_| \__, | | \ | | / | __/ | | \ | |___| |___/ |___| (_____)--------------------------------(_____)
Donald P. Goodman III
Version 1.0 (0E July 1201)
A river flows along its worn and well-tread path;
from mountains unto sea it flows from age to age;
it cleans its valley in its purifying bath,
and it becomes a part of peasant, king, and sage.
But this one river's only seen by but a few,
and water once gone through it never can return;
the man who bathes in it does something truly new,
a thing to do which no one else can ever learn.
Just so this moment's now, and never will come back,
and once it's gone it's gone for good, like fuel to burn.
We see the past; the future's shrouded all in black;
and yet we have so much, and little do we lack.
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© Goretti Publications 1207 (2023).
All material in this Gemini capsule is offered under the CC-BY-SA license, unless otherwise noted.