A stream flows down a hill,
So short its life it makes no map,
And with its end come such sadness,
Yet no joy came with its beginning,
It runs not with water,
But with life,
Its cause not nature,
But the hatred of man.
A stream flows down a hill, So short its life it makes no map, And with its end come such sadness, Yet no joy came with its beginning, It runs not with water, But with life, Its cause not nature, But the hatred of man. |

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August 6, 2008
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