Yet, I'm amazed at momentos,
mom gave me in a shoebox.
And the pictures that she took,
now out of my long reach,
held off in the distance, in,
a place I can no longer breach.

I've written down and published,
all that I could remember.
But memory fades with every year,
from early April to December.

As my days continue to grow short,
and some memories are confused,
I sharpen my memory by using it,
while I lose what's never used.

I hope my memory remains sharp,
on my very last living day.
So I can tell the ones I love,
why I'm happy just going away.