The Fringe

Tiny bits of memories,
They trickle down from somewhere deep inside;
I sometimes remember me,
But sometimes...I hide.

I try to see what 1939 was like,
So long ago, when I could play,
So long ago,
But it feels like yesterday.

Reality burns me,
It's confusion often leaves a singe;
But there are days I can lift off the blanket,
And appreciate the fringe.