Days of old,
Compared to the new.
Didn't think I'd make it through.
Changes since then,
They've been bold.
Memories I treasure,
More than any gold.
My memories concentrated,
On the moments,
That gave me pleasure.
In the moments,
We try to rush.
Later we wish,
They'd come back.
With the stroke of life's brush,
They're gone forever.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem