A life, like a river
The river flows, and carves its way and never brooked can be; but though it leaves its tracing ray, eroding, marking each past day with its own imprint, who can say it ever left the path to sea?
The river flows, and carves its way and never brooked can be; but though it leaves its tracing ray, eroding, marking each past day with its own imprint, who can say it ever left the path to sea?