If I had known that my memories would be
The last relics of a bygone era,
I would have kept better care of them.
Perhaps I would have planted them in a garden.
Blossoms and blooms to feed the bees,
They carry my memories on their fu like
Pollen and take them home to enrich their honey.
Maybe my memories are taken tot he sky
In tehe bellies of birds, and flown south
To warmer climates. Maybe the snakes
Flick the air with their tongues and taste
My memories on the wind. Maybe the sun
Bakes my memories in to the earth, dry
And cracked like the mud of a dried up river wash.
Had I known that my memories would be
The only things left of the flowers the bees the birds the snakes,
Maybe I would have worked harder to keep them
From turning into nothing but memories.
