Millions pass and go

Some under His sun, some snow

As time passes by His gate

Yet no one ever knows its fate


A silence gifts itself to those to come

Before the few who whom to become

Be it He, the master for all

For all, who knew heard His call


Golden words enshrined atop for what was said

Few beg, but most pass by without a thread

No end ever is found once tread

And all the world is held, once read

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