The water gently flows,
Around and over the rocks and weeds,
And pieces of debris,
That lay within,
The large body of water.
It never stops,
But is always changing,
The movement dependent,
On the infinite number of forces,
That act upon it at any given moment.
The water remembers it all,
But has no choice but to relive each moment,
As though it knew nothing,
And could only flow,
Wherever the wind blows.
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From @jen8