Nothing is richer
Than the wonder of becoming,
Than the boredom of becoming
Each moment richer.
Here is an airport,
For which the future has no words,
A fen of nostalgia for words,
Eternal airport.
The end is so far
From this half-pleasant waiting room
This heaven of waiting, this room
Where nothing so far
Has happened except
That passenger with the guitar
Practicing blues on his guitar,
Strums to no effect.
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