20.
Into this sky, this weather, careens a shard
Quizzical, from far-off nebulous times.

If i could wrest the shapes of things ordained,
I would not touch one jot of what was ours.

New struggles rise, undreamt of, far more dire,
And we march forth to meet them as survivors.

Yet what you ask, i grant: and i in turn
Offer that then, i also saw reward.

I learned, which made the one i am; thus happily
Twelve years now well-paired, wish you the same.