In the quiet spaces of my mind,
Memories flutter like leaves in the wind.
Some are heavy, laden with rain,
Others, mere whispers, barely a stain.
Yet each one whispers a tale of the past,
A mosaic of moments too fragile to last.
With every recall, their colors might fade,
But the essence of bygone days never strays.
In the garden of memory, I often roam,
Finding solace in what has flown.
For in the echoes of the past, I find,
A piece of myself, left behind.