Memory by Helen Hoyt
I can remember our sorrow, I can remember our laughter;
I know that surely we kissed and cried and ate together;
I remember our places and games, and plans we had-
The little house and how all came to nought-
But I cannot remember our love,
I cannot remember our love.
Posted on January 5, 2011, in Borrowed Rymes. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
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