Precious
Brings joy even after hours long
The wrongful present
It changeth pleasnt.
Cherished memories
Of faces and words
And irretrievable moments
Like resources precious
Are to be treasured
To rejuvenate spirits withered
The force vital on the wane
The joy of the days bygone.
The past with all its pastness,
Is like fuel in the reserve.
For never it fails to preserve
A fresh angle to existence.