What past is this I've stumbled upon,
memories in print, letters of old.
Cards of promises, odes and more.
Should I save these effects, as I have till now?
To savor the scents and obsessions past?
With each word, a tear must form,
a casual bead of sorrow let go.
Or should I without care merely toss them aside,
to erase the tangible, to find them no more?
Alas I know too well, the forgetting of past
has refined power, to kindle the reflection.
Memories of gladness, caring and sorrow,
will with me, forever be.
And for every moment I reflect on my lament,
I recall more joys her friendship, really meant.