Those We Love
Those we love don't go away.
They walk beside us every day,
but one morning sun's gentle ray
says things are not the same.
Yes, I can remember
when I first touched her in November.
Now, it's just a dying ember,
a memory of love's flame.
I wonder, did she, my life, complete?
These memories fly by so fleet,
and can you please repeat.
I forgot my name.
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