I’m chasing down those dead thoughts like leaves in autumn,
Hoping they will reveal again the colour we bought them
For when we see that gold, though brilliant now,
Is already fading to brown.
I’m hoping that these old memories
Are not sepia as the photos
But are going to become clear and green
And fresh as the daisies
That sprinkled the lawn with delight
When I was seven or eight
And mourned when the lawn was mown.
The precious flowers had their heads chopped off
Like Mary Stuart or Sir Walter Raleigh
Who were beautiful, but not wanted.
There, you see, I have done it,
Another memory returns – how vivid!
Pink cherry blossom, bespeckling the grass
Pleased my child’s eye so much.
Are these worth remembering, writing down?
Or is it best to forget
And let
The present day world believe that the past was always worse?
And yet,
I know the lies and the spin.
Perhaps my corner of life is worth recollecting
And telling people of before it all falls away
From my tree like autumn leaves.
Jacqueline Mulhallen
