And the days drift, and I lose it. Then I regain it, pulled from a coil of a dream of it. Then I desire it. I repeat it. And I recycle it. and praise it. And I go on to shape it, imagine it, but never fully grasping it.
I owe it, a birth into existence; hence the persistence. I'll never grow it, and I know it, but I put all my hopes on it ... until the day I die.