the whiff of a memory caught,
without a doubt, excites him;
for it is fading, what he’s got,
with each day, becoming dim.
slowly they slip into the shade,
as with time, everything goes,
drying too from memory glade,
all but the teardrop that flows.
none care what beneath lies,
all around him, hearts of stone,
he wonders, if he soon dies,
will those hearts change tone?
till he shall lie still on the lawn,
he mourns the memories gone.
(© 2nd June 2015)