The past became the present,
And the present stretches through eternity.
Moment to moment,
Movement made of images,
The stuff from which calculus was made
And the present stretches through eternity.
Moment to moment,
Movement made of images,
The stuff from which calculus was made
The past shaped our present
And the present will shape a future
We may never see.
Functions, graphs, lines on a page,
So simple in isolation.
Why does it never make sense?
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