(Pure Abstraction "Angles," by Olan Smith)

A Fickle Trophy

©2018, Olan L. Smith

I've notice as the century turned

And the more we progress into it

That a hundred years is not nearly

As long as it used to seem, like that

Big tree in the yard that I used to climb

Is not nearly as tall as I remember.

Now, I research family of the nineteenth

Century, pioneer days for them, isn't

That long either―and a thousand year,

Just ten centuries, but my how humans

Civilization changes. Time, is such a

Fickle trophy―you can't hold onto it,

And it doesn't stay put, but how we cherish it.