Because of memory
hate, more than love, returns to roost
(love knows its place and needs nothing
its steadfast joys to boost).

The gaps of time are closed
the past like a cinema-screen unrolls-
faces, scenes, places, words, dreams
sorrow and pain--each its story unfolds.

Memory like a task-master
wields its well-seasoned whip
its punishment it threatens to unleash
with cuts painful and deep.

Now in my days of decay
yet I've not forgotten-
me you did abandon without a single reason
do you dare ask to be forgiven?