when they move on they never look behind,
determined eyes seek only what's ahead,
and those they've left behind are left for dead,
their memory does every heel step grind,

so no old fiber to their thought can bind,
and to alleviate that awful dread,
which weighs upon the heart like heavy lead,
they hum the olden song of auld lang syne,

and those they've left behind for some odd sin,
who long for, are deprived of, one last kiss,
and haunt their memories with dreadful sigh,

forgotten for they've surely never been,
no more in recollections do exist,
they shrivel as a memory and die

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos