What is it to remember,
A memory of splendour?
Is it a tale of a personal endeavour,
That can be replayed forever and ever?
For there are many occasions I can recall,
Such as the evening of my summer ball,
But is this a memory that nothing can kill,
Or is it merely a photograph of time stood still?
To remember is to live, too many forget,
For without a memory, what in life would we get?
And for just how long will your memories last,
And when will you no longer be able to remember your past?
What is it to remember,
A memory so tender?
Is it a tale you can share of a thrill,
Or is it merely a picture of time stood still?