Memories
Memories
Roam the fields while you are still young and free,
And consider the seed: either bloom or weed?
And pick the one that flowers under the sun,
And see to your needs and not to your greed,
To take to the grave before the day expires,
So as to rest in peace with good memories.
Rose petals are soft to touch and smell sweet,
But their thorns will prick your skin to make you bleed.
In my youth, I was defiantly boisterous
and pugnacious, and my smile was pretentious.
I was clever, and now tout est fini.
Bad memories are all I take with me.
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