YOUR MEMORY

Your memory gets me through the days
and nights when I can't sleep.
At three a.m. I search for things,
hidden, buried deep.

Your memory conjures treasures lost.
I long to call your name.
But you can't hear, you can not tell
my beating heart to tame.

At three a.m. I'm lost, alone,
looking for objects misplaced.
You would know where they lay in wait
if we were face to face.

But you're eyes are closed as you sink into
your pillow's cradle sleep
I'll have to wait to ask you where
I put the things I keep.

What would I do without your memory,
Eddie? What would I do without you?
How would I find anything in this house
I'd never have a clue.

What would I do without your memory, Dear?
You're eight years younger than I.
What will we do with our memories, Love
When you get past fifty-five?

Janet Brice Parker, 2003