Is memory true to humbled minds recall?
True colours seem to drift and fade away.
Playful the wind rushes through all
a soft lament she seems to him today play.
Safe duty beckons new loves release, calls
to honour that guilt in trembling of doubt
leapt as new life to unfamiliar wing but falls
as marked shackles of memoried safety stand stout.
Thus silent waves carry they who slipping past
without rippling rush of greeting shared nor look;
Here that future unexpected lasting brief but bright
‘ere reality denied their play sternly to brook.
Evermore striving he to find learning to blind that face
from his moments there etched within his very flesh;
tireless he thirsts for that knowledge grimly to erase
living memory held and laughing trill heard to thresh.
Time, as ancients tell of it, heals and no other as potent;
for what other river bathed would leave his love impotent.