Memories are sweet or sad moments that live with us
Like the gladness the rains give when we sleep at night
Or the painting of da Vinci that lived past his ingenuity
Memories are penned down in our hearts
Throwing flowers to paths we trod once,
Walking down the steps that held our homes
And of places where the nights are groomed for dance
So memories are illusions of what may be
What may have been or shouldn’t have been
The happiness of seeing a baby form into a toddler,
Missing the point where it all began sourly or sweetly
To the time we turn to the casket and so they go away
