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A Wrinkle in the I of Time

A wrinkle in the I of time
Catches bitter tears
That fall like sleet
Upon the earth
Of wasted, bitter years.

Plod, ye lazy plodders slow
Fill me up a life
With joy and mirth
And pain and fears
With peace and aimless strife.

Go gather me a moon or two
And wish upon a star
Just plant a rhyme
- Watch it grow
Into the me that are!

Robert G. Brown 2007-03-21