Childhood Grace - Poem by Christopher Withers
Our world is measured in childhood grace,
Future states, as yet unfolded,
Birth the words, that claim and hold us.
Cold consumer, of the void:
Time, it strips our nous and voice,
Memories fail and slowly rust,
Our universe, it falls to dust.
Life, life, a fairy tale,
Whispered on the night,
Dreams are prone to fade away,
When silenced by the predawn light.
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