A Memory, a Word

A memory is transitory coming, disappearing, and morphing fickle as a woodland nymph, and like a moth in the summer it soon dies. Humanity’s great citadel was not built on a bog of quicksand. A word is a stone durable and unchangeable permanent, immortal, and remembered like a marble bust or a mountain range. A writer lives forever his words echo evermore back and forth across eternity mingling in a mélange inside that most magnificent of all concert halls, the mind. So change memory to word, silhouette to sunrise speak forever never die.