In an ocean of disinterested humanity;
Two boys, identical, no more than eight
Find cause to revel in Papine Square.
Twice blessed, with mirror images,
other selves denied to many, and man’s
fascination and mutual general curiosity;
they have never been ignored.
One stream of joy in the sea of existence,
Twin brothers, yet little more than babies,
Skip along the crowded sidewalk,
And I, from my seat on high in the Number 68,
cast judgement on my jaded scepticism,
and their resilient innocence.
Flowers still bloom amid the thorns in Papine.