The art of augury

The future of things past

Yet soon to come.

For the future, 

Bright yearned for beacon,

Is built upon the past,

Not bound by the present.

The herald swims through the present

Not permitting it to cleave to the now

And forestall the birthing branches,

Myriad prescient paths permitting,

For those that have the courage

Determining strength

Or portent, luck or chance,

However you wish to dress it,

To swim the river that flows,

For those prepared to enter its waters

To where they were, perhaps,

Always meant to be.

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