The pain we get,
From the things we forget.
Brought to mind,
When memories we find.
The sound of the crickets soft in the night.
Their easy talk dispelling all fright.
On the grass our blanket made of wool,
Supported our bodies breathing full.
A walk in the park, hand in hand.
Master and mistress of all the seen land.
Love broadened the width of our view,
For me the sights seen were still of you.
But the parting still came.
Something ended the game.
A cover had grown,
Over all we had known.
Now years have trimmed,
The feelings that brimmed.
Still the pain is there,
Though time makes it rare.
But the pain we get,
From the things we forget,
Is brought to mind,
When memories we find.

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