A lake lies all alone in its own shape.It’s not going anywhere.A lake can wait a long timefor a hiker to comeand camp on its shore.It will reflect the moonlight,give him a drink of pale silver.Toward dawn, the wind might ruffleit a little, and the waterwill have words with the granite.Once the hiker goes awaythrough October meadows,the lake will sparkle by itself.You’ll never see it. There isso much you will never see.
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