{"id":681,"date":"2006-11-02T14:51:26","date_gmt":"2006-11-02T20:51:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/wordpress\/5-11-94-period\/"},"modified":"2006-11-02T14:58:07","modified_gmt":"2006-11-02T20:58:07","slug":"5-11-94-period","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/?page_id=681","title":{"rendered":"5-11-94  (period)"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"fb_share_1\" style=\"clear:left; float: left; margin-right: 10px; margin-top:10px;;width: 55px;\" name=\"fb_share\"><div id=\"fb-root\"><\/div><script src=\"http:\/\/connect.facebook.net\/en_US\/all.js#appId=125029517579627&amp;xfbml=1\"><\/script><fb:like href=\"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/?page_id=681\" send=\"false\" layout=\"box_count\" width=\"55\" show_faces=\"false\" font=\"arial\"><\/fb:like><\/div><p>.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;The death of a child is a period before the end of a sentence.&#8221;<br \/>\nCarl Jung<\/p>\n<p>Loss and survival held in small hands<br \/>\nPure smile before the mask<br \/>\nI had to ask my mother<br \/>\nWhat I was like when I was five<br \/>\nMy memory unseated on the board<\/p>\n<p>I find myself crying for a young girl<br \/>\nWho I never met<br \/>\nYet I know her and many others<br \/>\nBetter than the closest child<br \/>\nSuch wise teachers in small clothes<br \/>\nShow me things I&#8217;d turned my back on<br \/>\nSo basic, uncomplicated, filled with nothing but want and love<br \/>\nI hold them close to save the moment<br \/>\nAllowing me to see the eyes of a younger self<\/p>\n<p>My life is unwrapped, paper and tape stuck to my shoe<br \/>\nGifts children play with for an hour, break and get bored with<br \/>\nNow later, the fascination returns to the present<br \/>\nThe present<br \/>\nLove given, love lost, a life bettered by the association<br \/>\nI have lived more than one lifetime<br \/>\nAnd am grateful for each moment<br \/>\nMy tears cleansed by smiles<br \/>\nFrom other miracles.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>. &#8220;The death of a child is a period before the end of a sentence.&#8221; Carl Jung Loss and survival held in small hands Pure smile before the mask I had to ask my mother What I was like when I was five My memory unseated on the board I find myself crying for a [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":415,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false,"spay_email":""},"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/PeNcU-aZ","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/681"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=681"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/681\/revisions"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/415"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=681"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}