Sometimes I read autobiographies
and though usually quite interesting
they make me feel deficient
because I remember so little of my past.

If I were to try I might assemble a few paragraphs
to lay out the memorable events of my life
they would consume but few pages.

And as my years advance
my history deminishes.

I only know for sure
that I’ve made thousands of baby rattles
and likely made some babies smile.

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