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I came to be on the River one day, though exactly how, I don't know. Vague mem'ries and instincts taught me the way... of living was to row and row. My boat drifting slowly, a watery world, grand vistas, to each distant shore. The water, my shaky strokes, eddied and swirled, tiny hands grasped each gleaming oar. And the River moved on, never stopping, as it wound its way through to the sea... swiftly bearing that little boat, bobbing, with its one tiny passenger... me. It often felt cramped as I jockeyed my boat, with thousands of craft on all sides, all frantically striving to just stay afloat, and me wanting only to hide. While all of the people rowed madly, towards ambitions they seemed to hold dear. When I asked, some would shake their heads sadly, while others would laugh, shout or jeer. And the River moved on, never stopping, as it wound its way through to the sea... swiftly bearing that little boat, bobbing, with its one youthful passenger... me. Oftentimes tempests struck without warning, my boat torn and tossed by the waves, as I shivered and shook, 'midst the storming, while praying, from trials I'd be saved. Other times, peace would reign in sweet silence, golden sun gently lights, glassy morn'. Drifting placidly through the past violence, where just hours before, raged the storm. Yet the River moved on, never stopping. as it wound its way through to the sea... Swiftly bearing that little boat, bobbing. with its one robust passenger... me. A fair partner I gained on that River, and she tied up her boat, fast to mine. Faithful crew mate, a friend, and a giver, who supported me time after time. For the rapids we ran past together, and the sand bars and snags, we pushed through, as a team both in fair and foul weather, united, our strength was renewed. She left me one day, I know not for where, and the pain was so great, that I cried... sure existence was over, my soul was laid bare, agonized, by untimely good-byes. Yet the River moved on, never stopping, as it wound its way through to the sea... swiftly bearing that little boat, bobbing, with its one aging passenger... me. There often were forks that divided... the River, with choices to make, and I struggled for wisdom, undecided, whether right fork or left fork to take. Sometimes choosing poorly, sometimes choosing well, as my course, future's thick fog veiled. My nose full of danger's bittersweet smell, as each bend of the River I sailed. I finally saw that the River was life, with unstoppable, unshakable flow. We may leave its currents, through old age or strife, but its course and its pace, will not slow. This River someday, I'll soon leave behind, for my sight has grown dim, and I'm cold. Weathered face all wrinkled from sun, sea and sky, and the unsteady shake of the old. Now the River rolls faster than ever before, the miles seem to go rippling by. I painfully grasp my worn pair of oars, and resume rowing, with a sigh. Still the River moves on, never stopping, as it winds its way through to the sea... swiftly bearing that little boat, bobbing, with its one aged passenger... me.
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