Knowing the inevitable outcome,
The gradual accumulation of heat,
As the sun rises up over the mountains—
A sin it would be to fear,
To fail to bask in the light of life,
The one true mother of this
Collection of rocks so special,
But what's so special?,
When all is exactly how it must be,
Ceaseless motion—
The endless musing,
So futile in essence—
With piercing laughter,
At once the quiet chattering
Is not.
MS21
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