In jest we receive a gift,
That can’t be taken hold of.
It changes form at the touch,
And slips betwixt our fingers.
Altho’ we’d own the seas,
The tides will bow to none:
Always there to tease us,
To dance within their flow.
By the time we can accept,
The moment’s passed already.
It’s not our place to allow it:
For ’t will happen either way .
Life cares not to be thanked,
For what value it’s ascribed:
We can merely undergo it,
Or turn away — and cease to live.

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