Time? How can I define it if I don’t know what or where it is? And yet all my life, I’ve casually and confidently used the word itself. Very well — but I must never make it my defense or my excuse.
Little children — all of the rocks in the avalanche have names. Their meanings will come, by and by, brought by butterflies and babbling brooks.
August 2, 2019
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Categories: Everything and Nothing, New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Definitions, Diaries, Journals, Little Children, Time
William Michaelian 