I am still a field unploughed, a ripe fruit that would not fall. The most that I possess is the warmth of the sun, and the memory of that man.
I know that among my people these shall not rise again king nor prophet nor priest, even as the sister of my father foretold.
We shall pass with the flowing of the rivers, and we shall be nameless.
But those who crossed Him in midstream shall be remembered for crossing Him in midstream.