I find something primal, yet cultured; expressive, yet esoteric in poetry. The most profound verse I have come to love comes from the Rubaiyat, a selection of poems, by Omar Khayyam.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit,
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
Do you understand what Khayyam is saying?
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