What small fragments these
shredded from the million years
growing up takes.
Where did all the missing pieces blow?

What layers of living crumpled this flimsy page
crushed out pure mystery and surprise,
the bright simplicities of happiness and fear,
excitements greater than we’d ever know again?
Why have time’s horseman
trampled so many, left so few
shining fragments in the gathering dust?

Will age bring rediscovery?
As with dead old scrolls
patience and wisdom at last,
make order of the broken past?


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