Aztec Poem

 

We have come only to sleep

We have come only to dream.

It is not true, no, it is not true

That we have come to live on the earth.

 

At every spring the grass is renewed,

So do we too acquire form.

Our heart puts out shoots, grows green.

Our body begets a few flowers

And then lies withered.

 

Anonymous

About ubu507

memory documentation and manipulation
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