Sample those last fruits,
That refuse to rot off the vine.
They’ve been left so long,
That any memory of rot is lost long behind.
What sour juices can be suckled
Now that the sweetness falls through?
The river wafts closer to the land
Where all the vines grow.
Follow the flood,
Feast on the fruits.
To eat them is to love them,
And that love is truth.
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