Neither was never the sore thumb stood,
Shattered in the ways that humbly trod,
Gained in its wary host did he shook,
But not for none but greater leave found,
Gestured towards the waves that slowly wave,
Soon besot the lasting ship that hither sway
And towards the fog thus breathes the new air;
For the old land was gone but never no newer fared,
But blind as he in what chance made astound,
That he could not sleep without dreaming the land ahead,
That of his own land once he hailed now sailed contrary,
Soon departed and never no more did he think the past,
Once he landed himself the last sunset closing in
Thus knew that the times and ways once had were never parted:
For these seconds were never the minutes not once had.

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Nature, Poetry, Works
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