by Ben Sinclair
Where do the crumbs go?
Brushed aside so carelessly
With no thought or care
Like supporting characters in a play
Hardly remembered, but etched in memory
What is thought as minuscule and obsolete?
Care not, consume, and move forward
Swept up and swept out the door,
Lost in a torrent of time
Until later when you meet evermore
Where do the crumbs go?
When you are done with them,
Faded memories so long ago,
Old friends no longer know
Remember me when and where I go.
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