Near as we vote it, yesterday is, in reality remote
for that time is over.
Those bent on resurrecting painful events evoke
only heartache's shadow.

Fantasy drawn in wet sand is, by tide's turning,
washed clean and swept away.
Yesteryear dreamers who weave only for ghosts
will bury the best of today.

If instead of time-veiling we allow memory into
Now's air it becomes fresh.
Facing tomorrows without need of phantoms we
free Self for more success.