The river never waits
Cutting, though many other
Names exist, rock and bone
Pollute the pure, Season's
Unwashed hands deign piety
Every stoic stroke wears away
Each push a fresh argument
One hesitates suggesting fire
But Frost, these things moving
A child pressed to crawl
Will crawl upon your turning
Through ears, the river never
Waits and morals never makes.
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