ramblings and things

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Sometimes the river keeps the lost



As they take their final rides



Drifting to and fro with



The cycle of the tides.



Sometimes the Pilots or the watermen



Can suggest where they'll be



If they they know where and when 



They start their journey to the sea.



 



It's a solitary decision 



So we seldom know why



Those lost souls choose 



This way in which to die.



Maybe they've lost hope



Or maybe it's dark despair 



That drives those poor souls



To end their lives in there;



 



Maybe it's ancestral memory,



For all life came from the sea.



Whatever their reasoning



That's where they choose to be.



For a brief time we look and mourn



For those missing and gone



While the uncaring river



Still just flows on and on.



 



Whether by accident 



Or by their own hand



 Life cycles finish



For those denizens of the land. 



The ancient river flows



Largely unconcerned with man



On a timescale so much longer



Than any individual's brief span.



 



And the cold silver moon 



Which holds the tides in thrall



Shows no emotion 



As it overlooks all.



Drifting to and fro with



The cycle of the tides,



Sometimes the river keeps the lost



As they take their final rides.



 



 




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The River