A Good Memory does not equal Pale Ink.

Where have all the hours gone
Of thought and chat,
Cogitation and philosophy?
The seconds of each hour
And day have flowed
Away as
Melting snow in the
Bright sunlight.

Where have all the hours gone
As today becomes
Yesterday and a new week
Begins afresh?
Will the tales of
Meals and parties,
Drinks and laughs,
Now be told, or ever?

Clamities and joys
Behind as time rushes into
Destiny and now
Becomes next.

Last year this liturgical week
Seems so close,
Yet even theh I thought of
The year before,
Of Jodie.

Now Siān and I
Lament the year's swift
Passage and even
Now realise how much
May pass unnoticed.

And should some nameless,
Unforeseen other ever read
This,
What will they think of us?
And what of that unwritten,
Hinted, yet hidden forever?

This poem, A Good Memory does not equal Pale Ink, is ©:1996 S.N.Mousir-Harrison.