In Support of the land of Crasti

They were here, right here, I’m sure

Last night before I slept I’m sure I left them here

By the bed, by the alarm clock

Ready for me to pick up in the morning

I almost babble with panic as fingers scrabble

Over throat lozenges and fake wood veneer

Filled to bursting with the stuff I picked up in school

And added to with things I shaped myself

(haphazard and unwieldy though they were)

Shining and polished, and so so many of them

All ready to use, right here, I’m sure they were

Where did they go?  

Could they have been so carelessly mislaid

Or did some thief, clever-creeping come to my room

In the night

In the silence

And take them away?

My years.  Where have they gone?

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