In Dublin, a child’s spinning top

was found,
remnant from antiquity,
the detritus of a Viking city
buried by another city.
In Baghdad, I remember,
a Sumerian spinning top
discarded through millennia
find light and air
amid the chaos and turmoil
of war and plunder.
Ninety years ago
a spinning top was
a Christmas gift.
Time flies,
as people do,
spinning, like their toys,
in perpetual motion.

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