Memories

Memories. Strange how it is how memories can come. All one has to do is to dig, Through the piles of yesteryear. How many memories do we find, Bringing us back to other times? Photos of pets now long gone, Looking at us through the camera lens. Correspondence of friends, two against the world, Now dust covers the years passed alone. Phone numbers of lovers once so dear, Never to talk again. Letters to senators in your youth, Telling of idealism now long gone. Keys from a friend’s car you once knew well, Still waiting to requite their trust. Strange it is, how memories can come, When one digs through the piles, Of yesteryear.