Electron Dust
P Patti Masterman
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Flying through the fevered sun
Dust of electrons, your time will come;
With tiny hands we cannot see,
Purveyor of some fluid dream.
Old still, when the world was new
Many bifurcations through,
Subdivided on the fringe,
Bereft; apart from matters hinge.
Time will sweep your comely doom,
Electrons who were gone too soon-
The Conservation Law must save
The martyrs to the cosmic wave.
Bu şiiri puanla
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