Memory Serves
Memory be not born on wind, to waft and gust, to carry this way and thus, fickle and fraught.
Memory be of the mountain ever rising, ever steadfast, always on the horizon.
Memory be as the hundred year oak, spreading hardwood boughs green with promise.
Memory be not of the night, with spectral voices whispering and chill hard stars above offering no respite.
Memory be of the day and the promise of life renewed, the sun warming all through and through.
Memory be of the love we had for you never to fade and always to hold true.