It happens all the time.
Hands vigorously sharpening a blade.
Or whittling a stick abruptly stop;
The startled dog half asleep
On the floor, opens its eyes.
Once again another old man,
Lost and found in Memory’s overpowering gaze,
Falls upon his knees.
“Lord, Lord,” he begins,
“I did not know it then,
But those were the finest years of my life.”
.Jerry Shonda
