It's one thing to know it has to end
And another to feel it ending. Once
You're almost dead you know both,
Will always know both, even should
You chance, for a while, to survive.
It doesn't improve with time. But you
Did not come to this experience to whine.
The stream that was never the same
Does not note its service as a parable
For those about to dash their skulls
On the rocks it only rushes across
On its way to being nothing like an end.
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