In loving spree and dreams and cry,
In heaps of petals fallen and dry.
Erasing signs of innocent myths—
Cradled so long in cerebral piths.
Reaped not harvest, seeds not sown,
The last wish awaits the last ribbon.
Moments flee, pages burn,
And ashes fill the memories’ urn;
Yet the sojourn shines in glee
When life recounts its first turn.