The labored souls we spill today

Grow vibrant as we grey.

The stories captured now,

Like drying streams, will trickle down.

And for all who know them now,

It’s but a glimpse.

For all who will see and know,

Number them the limitless.

That endless times, these names be known,

And truly, the future is to be shown,

By the patterns we observe, and recreate,

All found to be abundant, and good,

In their own time.

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