Classic Poem

The Way is like an empty vessel
That yet may be drawn from
Without ever needing to be filled
It is bottomless; the very progenitor of all things in the world
In it all sharpness is blunted,
All tangles untied,
All glare tempered.
All dust smoothed
It is like a deep pool that never dries.
Was it too the child of something else? We cannot tell.
But as a substanceless image it existed before the Ancestor.