When last
it passed or
way
I was still two
generations away not even
an idea
My identity
known only
by the Maker
of all
Now at this
juncture
It will be another generation
at least
before I might
behold this ice-tipped
cosmic spear
And yet
I am hopeful
despite all the
sham
hatred greed sorrow and
superficiality
of this world
that I might
be blessed
Five years short of my own
century
to share
with my progeny
in the witness
of this epochal visitor
Baser hopes
have been
realized
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