The old fool folds a bony talon 
jealously around the timeless and universal
when the old fool remembers their value
though the blood of the age surges in the old fool's body
and the scars of the old fool's particular history 
are painfully ever present.
This, for better or worse, is what I do.
I do remember splinters, blisters and nettle stings
but I'm no Seamus Heaney.
I can't bring back a day or place in its details,
more to the point, I'd choose not to.
As current affairs no longer current reek,
true as a steeple listing facts unknown 
to the reader, dear reader rapidly passes by.