Poems about Memory poems

Adown the grass-grown paths we strayed, The evening cowslips ope’d Their yellow eyes to look at her, The love-sick lilies moped With envy that she rather chose

Years ago, we came to the end of the line, both went our separate ways, but your memory keeps calling me back. Calling to me from a distant shore, back to your arms once more.I try to resist and

MemoryPlays the keys Of my heartJust like a Baby GrandThe melody-the tuneAll off keyIn an orchestra Of fine tuned instrumentsI follow the musicWith my minds eyeTo where-ever it leads meAn

Chill penury repress'd his noble rage, And froze the genial current of his soul.GRAY. IF GRIEF can deprecate the wrath of Heaven, Or human frailty hope to be forgiven ! Ere now thy sainted spir

I remember well, the curse of SarajevoMy friends cheering, the black line'We will be home before Christmas'. I joined because friends had joined.Friends always.Haunted by the poster saying, 'Wha

The wind skirtsthe lakefingering the hemof your skirtbefore lifting it totake a peakunderneath.Wot a cheek! Wot a cheek! Naughty wind! Naughty wind! Naughty wind! ...naughty! But I

Oh in this dearth and winter of the soul, When even Hope, still wont to soar and sing, Droopeth, a starveling bird whose downy wing Stiffens ere dead through the dank drift it fall-- Yea, ere Hope

High in the sky, like a bird in the air, One lonely kite, soars peacefully there, A child on the ground, with a string in hand, Pulling ever so slightly, to keep it from sand, With every slight

Crazy Loneliness Hijacks Memory of a Beautiful GirlLast nightI missed you so muchI made love toyour nightdress... passionately.Now your nightdresshides from meslinks under covers and pil

Told myself today was gonna be the day No more excuses~~I knew just what to sayBattin' my eyes, I know what to play Ah damn, I let the moment slip awayRackin' my brain~~goin' insane Contempl

As she lay dying with the radio playing softly in the background, The notes of a song so sweet tickled and triggered her memory, Number one in the charts the week she was born, Playing at her eight

It was a happening, a moment in time, some fifty years ago.I rememberthe pull on my shirt, a plaintive voicea cry for help, the revulsionthat I felt.For standing there, Iraqi girl, age clo