Of memory, lie thoughts of this winter,
A faraway future, distant ages,
Followed by speculations that splinter.
From whom do I claim my long-lost blue skies?
Where may these limbs extend, beyond their means?
Twist this spine to reach for a sun too high,
And fall too far from the shelter of greens.
Yet in its time, darkness finds clarity.
The wheel turns over, and winter births spring.
In my falling up, opportunity
Nurses me with the hopeful song it sings:
The sun sets on time contemporary
As a new stage in life nears its daybreak.
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