Rats
Like rats aboard a sinking shipWe drift the seas of time,
Yet every single one of us
Must perish in the brine.
We argue with our destiny.
We think our death too soon.
Still time rolls on remorselessly
Beneath the yellow moon,
And bears no witness; leaves no sign
That we were even there.
It's not the ocean's nature, see,
To notice or to care.
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