As the end of day draws near,
I suddenly come upon a fear.
In the days when I am old,
Will my memories be so bold?
Will I remember every person I’ve met,
Or will them all I forget?
As over these memories i lust,
I must not let them turn to dust.
I will not let them fade away,
And leave me alone in disarray.
I must keep adding to the library in my head,
Everyday before I am dead.
As each day comes and closes,
I must remember to stop and smell the roses.