What do we do to time.

Who will remember me after I have gone,
Memory changes everything,
With the seasons come and gone,
Lives are full of business,
Few stop and pause,
Finding a special moment,
To cherish and applaud,
But in my garden,
Is my Mother's Hydrangea bush,
Her shoes in my wardrobe,
That sometimes I do kiss.
On the wall is an embroidery,
Done by her dear hands,
And glasses in a case,
That's as near as I can.
Touching the memories,
The hours that we shared,
They are now part of me
Never to be disturbed.

Love Mary **