Memories, be them sweet, sad, or sour,
Are best consumers of Man's time & power.
Most oft, sighs are brought to the fore;
Though painful, we can never ignore.
To have them back in ecstasy,
We fool ourselves;
For this is a mere fallacy:
What's gone is stacked on shelves.
Recall the flowers nodding their heads,
When as lovers you dropped by their beds.
Recall the moment when lovers depart;
All that's around pay tribute to the heart.
Lose a father, an akin, or a friend,
Memories neither heal or mend,
Wounds that never come to an end,
Nor are they allies of us to defend.
The days gone are gone!
Useless it is to weep on.
Fair or unfair have been the days bygone,
Celebrate not, regret not what's being done.
'Tis true that with us they do sleep;
And like it or not, under bed they creep.
Most oft than not, they let us weep,
And blind us to stare as long as cows and sheep.
