Intro: Before the Fleeting Hour

An hour, a minute, found,
Rescued from stone or clay or dust,
Something that cannot be denied.

Something here follows that my sweetheart found in a letter I wrote.  I do not remember writing the following sonnet.  I must have been in some sadly altered state of conciousness.  It was like reading it for the first time.   An amazing experience to realise I wrote it.

Insults Make Me Happy:

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