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  Oct 2015 Elizabeth Pryor
Sara Jones
I once knew a man, he was married to a poet.
He would complain she never remembered to visit her mother.
She never remembered his allergies or his favorite color.
She never remembered to pay the phone bill or to wash her clothes.
She never remembered to take her medicine or take a shower.
She never remembered to take the trash out or to go grocery shopping.

But he got sentimental and told me what she always remembered.

"She always remembered," he said, " what we did in our first date.
She remembers my favorite cologne and what type of detergent irritates my skin.
She remembers when I tell her I love her.
She never forgets to tell it back.
She never forgets to love everyone she meets, greets everyone with a smile and enthusiastic wave.
I guess she can't remember little things like my favorite color or what time she has to go to work.
But she always remembers the important things
And I guess that's all I could really ask for."

— The End —