• Memories are what scrapbooks are filled with
    Memories are what grandparents hold dear
    Memories seem so distant, but some are so near
    Each day, a new one is made
    The old ones never rekindle
    They flutter away

    I wonder if that will ever happen
    To a person like me
    Who writes everything down
    Never thinking of the trees

    Will my memories be gone
    Before I turn fifty-three?
    Will my book disappear
    Never to be seen?

    Will everything be okay if I can't remember
    Will I think back, ever to discover
    My memories fading like a dusty book
    Getting stolen by twisted crooks

    My memories are golden
    More than coins or dimes
    Staying forever, surpassing time
    Even the miserable ones I tend to keep
    Just to look back and laugh at the heap
    No matter how bad, memories are forever
    Always being stored
    Always being Lost
    Memories are my vice, my imperfection
    Without them, it seemed like my life wouldn't suffice
    Memories