Such fickle things are memories
So fragile, tenuous, but strong
Some fade before the ink has dried
While some will last in stone life-long
And others flit like butterflies
Appearing where they least belong
But every one will play a part
One note or chord to fill life’s song
Time too plays quiet, clever tricks
To alter memories as they age
Intensifying color, strength
Or else erasing from the page
To piece a story that will hold
Against the siege of life and loss
To help us keep the things most dear
Where love and joy and sorrow cross
