As the seasons do shall wander,
Our reflection doth begins.
Of our lives we must be fonder,
So paths may open for our kin.

As ephemeral as day,
Our moments shared are numbered.
And a flame that's lit may only stay,
If memories remain remembered.

So here's a thought you may hold on to,
When days do go astray:
Open your mind's door so you can go through,
Reminiscing adventures that portray,
That life is filled with many twists,
But little pleasures do truly exist.

A classification-- a distinguishment of sorts,
Is a name we are given, one from which we can't resort.

Written in stone, Monica is a puzzle,
For the definition it reveals is quite the bumbuzzle.

Alone, you may say, is the meaning of said name--
But think just for a second: should it really remain?

Should Monica be doomed to a life of such solitude,
When life should, instead, be filled with more gratitude?

For solitude is a huge price to pay for a deed she did not commit!
So why should she listen to the words of someone's "wit"?

But, is thwarting prophecy truly worth the reward?
Don't we all have the same end that we tend to lean toward?

Surrounded by those that share their love everyday,
Is it all just a haunting game that will pull her astray?

No, it's a myth-- it simply can't be,
That name can bear such influence and won't let her be me!