Falling Fences

The day of newness passes by,
As time sticks to its metronome;
We cling to some faux-permanence,
For we've a faulty chromosome

That leads us blithely on towards
A disillusionment at last.
When we see chaos overcome
The icons of our youth, our past.

We should have known, we say
As vision clears:
For while the builders have their day,
Destroyers have 

Their years

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