To sit and sift through pictures,

each its own clear memory,

to laugh over one,

cry for another;

Beloved faces gone till eternity.

To recall long past birthdays,

painful, without rejoicing.

from one year to another

a quiet, gentle turning,

far better to leave those in Memory.

To walk through the rooms,

in which one grew up.

Remembering the good,

pushing behind the bad,

so little remains - sad but true.

The new things stick out,

they don't belong.