Oh child, lonely as a relic

Come sit upon my shelf and

collect dust sweetly 

spilled upon the room.

Hands will hesitate over

 paradise faintly

then move away again.

"As of a dream, 

the curiosity of old crowds and idle luxuries 

will collect around you.  

Your memory and senses 

will be nourishment for your creativity.  

What will become of the world when you leave?  

No matter what happened, 

no trace of now will remain."

-Arthur Rimbaud-