We could lay time flat like as on a map,
or you could build it up like hills of clay,
or better yet, do both, put clay on map,
and put rocks down, so it won't fly away:
Then, we'd open a pack of toy soldiers,
and put them on the hill, oceans and land,
and you'd make a flag out of toothpicks and
napkins with birthday designs from past years:
Where'd I'd stick a flag would mark a new year–
I mean, an old one that's passed us all by,
and we'd define our times on lands far, near,
without really even having to try:
Please pray for them, they're on Purgatory–
the clay slope is a slippery story.
urbansonnets 