Little sailboats sit on the water,
Stillness holds them, yet they move.
The wind whispers, but they do not chase.
How far must they sail to find the shore?
A fisherman watches from the bank,
"What do you wait for?" he asks.
The sailboats say nothing,
And drift toward the horizon.
Is it the boat, the water, or the wind
That decides where they go?
Or do they never leave the shore at all?
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