When time runs out,

What will I see?

A quilt of memories,

Patched intrinsically?

Or like a breeze in the forest,

Fast fading in my gaze,

With only scrapbooks and legends,

To lessen my daze.

But for now I will focus,

Like and oak in its youth,

To make firm foundations,

By strengthening my roots.

For my hope must remain,

That my memories will be,

Ever present and alive,

In the roots of this tree.

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