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The things which do not 
change will surely die -
As withered branches 
set upon the ground;
The people and 
forgotten cities lie
As bones and dust - 
interred without a sound.

The essence of both 
people and their time -
In triumph and the 
folly of their pride,
Is like a poem with 
meter and its rhyme;
These ancient souls 
within our hearts reside.