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Willing fingers of unknown glide across the tide
The envelope strange of shape opens to the words
In all that is to survive another receives and one gives
It is the story of our birth
Bottle rides the waves started by the moon
Time it is the judge of rebellion challenges love
As the pages slowly turn, as live and die, fill the mind
It is wonder, created as there is fear, with an occasional tear
Book just grows size
By the quiet of the moon sad and lonely tune
Words written well, story of history, sometimes tell
It is the winners whose words take the mark
Sketches on a wall reminders of tales tall
Few pass from generation to now
Whales sing of a life before man
Tree fell, rings the story tell, of a life from heaven to hell
In the closing write, days accept nights the bottle floats
Paper and pen in the winds of time predict the end
Thread blends to thought and drifts away
Seas gobble up what is left of pure
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