Why do we take pictures whe'er we go ?
Why do we mark the streets that we roam ?
Why do we write our names on our books?
Why do we give old things sad looks ?
If everything's to pass and nothing's to stay,
why do we care for it all anyway ?
When nothing is permanent and all of it is vain;
Isn't it better to erase from our brain?
Perhaps it's foolish,
perhaps it's a waste,
to spend time marking
the books' first page.
Maybe it's fear, or apprehension perhaps;
that one day memories would be all that last .
So we write our names on books,
And mark the streets we roam.
We take pictures when we can,
And fill up pages with them alone.
For the day will come,
when we all must depart;
and God forbid
we leave an empty spot .