• From upon the dusty shore,
    And beyond the hated seas,
    Where clouds of day do form,
    And fall as long lost raindrops.

    Though the air they do glide,
    To pummel the ground below,
    Sink into earth and rock,
    Flow back into the river anew.

    Past mountains and hills race,
    Peasant, King, or Queen they ride,
    Not once stopping to stare or hiss,
    Carry to ocean blue, and start again.

    ‘Round and ‘round they will go.
    Fulfilling they’re cycle once more.
    Not time for rest they do have,
    Not time for ‘membrance either share.

    In years that have to past, so slowly,
    One thought I have noticed in my time,
    We have come to be of such a notion,
    And losing that which makes us human.