Into a single river's flow
Only once your step can go,
This a truth, some wisely know.
But all of life is passing streams,
All return, nostalgic dreams,
Going back's not what it seems.
Each journey leaves its trail of dust,
You may be left with clinging lust
Or simply worn-out, rotting rust.
So when we reach our rendezvous,
It is not I, it is not you.
We are two travellers anew.
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