Much of the writing of the 20th century involved a good deal of longing for either the past or the future, which makes the 20th century like just about every other time period.
The old days are gone
and the new days
are yet to come,
which is the way
it has always been,
nothing new in that.
Ceremonies treasured by grandparents
have always been gone,
crinkled clippings of yellowed paper;
dreams have not stopped shining,
dallying at the gateway
to the realm of being.
It is in this valley that life
has always lived,
in this sheer sided dale.
Pick your despair,
we are told, which
shadow we shall make
our shelter.
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