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Water is wondrously eternal
Immutable in the end
The water one sips
Could have once passed the lips
Of Jesus or Caligula my friend
It's an essence that flows
drips and drapes
That takes many forms, many shapes
It's fog...It's cloud
It's silent...It's loud
It comprises our very own breath
And without it no doubt
looms naught but dust and death
We take it as a given
Think of it mostly
As just hot or cold
but it's what keeps us livin'
And what keeps on giving
us the gift (and privilege) of getting
...Old...
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem