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Ships of Theseus
Every seven years, some say, we are renewed
In coded sequences not understood
Animal cells, well-timed, within us die
They leave forever, replaced and not refreshed
But even so, our selves are still our selves
And condemnations from the past endure
And praises, too, all of them a little worn
And the remember whens are an ever now
Then what...?
The eternal Wind
The eternal Wind that was before we are
Is the Forever following our little ships
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