As the end of day draws near,

I suddenly come upon a fear.

In the days when I am old,

Will my memories be so bold?

Will I remember every person I’ve met,

Or will them all I forget?

As over these memories i lust,

I must not let them turn to dust.

I will not let them fade away,

And leave me alone in disarray.

I must keep adding to the library in my head,

Everyday before I am dead.

As each day comes and closes,

I must remember to stop and smell the roses.