The dead hand of the past touches those who forget,
chasing dreams left untended, and always beset.

One way to reach beyond time and death
leave a mark in every proper and misspoke breath.

It all shakes out in the end, not the common way
but just as the toy falls to rest alone, along the brae

The past finds renewal in the crisp young minds
searching and looking at things afresh, always new finds


Penned by my hand on the 1st of Scarlatan, in the year 622 AF.