Memory

Our memory is like a garden, where we spend many hours
Watering fragrant flowers.
Yet sometimes we succeed
In fertilising a weed.
Indeed
We take a perverse delight in watching it grow
Much though
We deny that it is so!

Let not the weed
Seed
Say I,
But learn from it, then let it die,
For if it’s growth you do not control
It will succeed
And choke your soul.