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You move in melancholy flows
Over the heads of Roman statues -
Meandering - foaming silently
From your birth in far away western hills
To your demise on the coast

Drifting by meadows and fields
Beguiling the city
You are the eyes of history
Without a voice to speak
Of all the things you've seen

Calling always to the sea
Landmarks blotted on maps
Brooks long dried form paths
Ancient pillars for centuries stood
The sacred path taken onwards