No single thing abides; but all things flow. Fragment to fragment clings - the things thus grow Until we know them and name them. By degrees They melt, and are no more the things we know.

You may complete as many generations as you please during your life; none the less will that everlasting death await you.

One Man's food is another Man's Poison

Such crimes has superstition caused.

I return to the newborn world, and the soft-soil fields, What their first birthing lifted to the shores Of light, and trusted to the wayward winds. First the Earth gave the shimmer of greenery And grasses to deck the hills; then over the meadows The flowering fields are bright with the color of springtime, And for all the trees that shoot into the air.

We, peopling the void air, make gods to whom we impute the ills we ought to bear.

Things stand apart so far and differ, that What's food for one is poison for another.