If I stay here listening, I can know forever.
It is the stream gurgling, talking, running on.
It is in the wind blowing gently across me.
It is the birds singing to awaken the day.
It is the heroin hunting on the shore.
It is in these very rocks, which have withstood
The weather's of time and scouring river.
It goes and goes in spite of our strife.
Even when we don't listen to one another.
We can sit and know we are not us alone.
We are not these ideas or issues.
We are the very dirt we sit on.
And we do not last, we are gone into
The fabric of the ground and it is all
Rubbish.
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