Sitting humbly upon one’s rambling rock… 
…one can observe either splendor, or anarchistic amok… …oh the crashing and smashing against time’s clicking clock … ..if only there was a moment to catch a breath and take some stock… …but none can see the future, only see what’s close to one’s dim-lit dock… …so, do we get troubled by how the many waters walk… …or simply enjoy the flight, like a hovering hawk?
