|
| |
Memory
Look to the horizon
And see what's left of day,
A quiet dissolution
Of the thoughts that came our way.
The past is etched in memory
Like a sculpture in the sand;
Slowly it is worn away
By time's impassive hand.
'Til in some future moment,
When we trace a memory,
The detail will escape us
Like the sand that's washed to sea.
Copyright ©
Marty Hatcher
|
|