I used to collect so many things,
Finding out, I grew tired of them
They lacked the luster they once had
And the thought of getting rich,
Never came to be,
now the junk sits in marked boxes
in my musty basement.
Happy to say
I am a collector of memories
Sadly I threw some away
for what ever reason, I can't get them back
Growing older, realizing that it is priceless
To make and keep memories with people you love
Memories collect always
ReplyDeleteIn our dreams and waking moments.
Nice poem!
The Last Buds.
I would love to read your poem, but the blue against the black is indecipherable to my old eyes.
ReplyDeletevivinfrance If I change it to white, is that better?
ReplyDeleteSorry
Wysteria