The Childhood of Bertrand Russell

Iuvenis:
I cannot grieve for newly shattered crockery,
nor shed a tear for shards of splintered glass.
To simulate distress were hollow mockery.
They are of dust. Once more to dust they pass.

Senex:
How wise your words, my son, for every platter,
composed of ordered particles of dust,
assumes again the natural state of matter,
for entropy increases, as it must.

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