— PS —DestinySee. . . . the junk yard!Bits of metal Strewn about....Shining, iridescent scraps Underneath a burning sun. . . -Small boys gather up The twisted Mangled pieces. . . .To garner a coin or two From the plump munition makers.Who knows? ... The wreck That once Was a wheel On a new baby carriage May be molded into a bullet To pierce the heart of the baby Whom it once tenderly carried1AGNES TICrHE.