Memory

 Memory wields a tender  brush...

Paints the past a lovely shade,

Softens outlines sharp and hard,

Makes the crudest colors fade

Into a soft blend that seems

Shadowless and dim as dreams.

Memory lays her hands upon

Thoughts of old remembered strife,

Straightens out the tangled threads

Of the pattern we call life;

How much clearer we can see

Looking back with memory.

Memory gilds the commonplace...

Makes the lonely ways to shine,

Adds a glamour to the days,

Changes that old past of mine

Into something sweet and rare,

Radiant and clean as prayer.

Memory is a school where we

Learn that only good can be

Carried down across the years,

Time's eternal tapestry...

Living colors rich and rare

Woven in a pattern there.

By Edna Jaques