The  memories I have  of  life
are many faded now,
for even as a day is gone,
I forget so many whos and hows.
But to the precious memories I cling,
knowing to everyone else they are nothing;
playing barbies in my room,
washing dishes in the afternoon,
the tin of Altoids Dad always had,
the many spankings when I was bad,
the night-time lullabies and prayers,
getting stuck in the old, wood high chair.
Even listing each thing here
makes a romance of my twenty-one years.
Strange it is that I should cherish
these small things until I perish.