My Footprint in Time
MY FOOTPRINT IN TIME
Only age could have reduced this,
The etching of a memory
To a dusty trace, faint with a sheath of rust,
Distinguished from all the rest
Only by its importance to me.
There is no real way of knowing
Which marks along the battered lines
Were bites of another’s armor
Or bone, or the blades of time,
The source of pain impossible to tell
With the passage of ages.
How many lives has it touched?
How many children has it fed to monsters,
Or how many hearts still cold to Christ
Has it pierced with the fine point of Truth.
How long has it endured?
DEDICATED WITH LOVE TO THE MEMORY OF MAYA ANGELOU,