Still is the rushing water below the bridge.
Still is the rustling leaves in the trees.
Still is the ominous vibration of the lowest
cord on the windchimes, carried on...

Still is the whistle of the wind,
and the frog croaking in a tree 100 yards away
still is the world revolving below
and the moon rotating up high.
still is the pulse of the waves on the sand.

While all these things stand still
I stand. Still listening. Still feeling.
Still thinking. Still.

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