- No One Will Remember -

John Herlihy

Sunday 23 September 18

In the years now gone by, what is left to remember,

Spring flowers in May, falling leaves of September.

In the years not yet gone by, what will we hope for,

But the destiny we know to be ours, that we set store.

People’s thoughts inevitably hope for a future bright;

No one seeks any sadness over the pursuit of delight.

Yet our memories can often take on a melancholy air,

What we miss, what we neglected, a lingering despair.

So many thoughts of the past that seem strange now;

Still they preserve a dreamy, inspiring quality somehow.

Like many an old friendship, now impossible to revive;

The memory of lost loved ones may help us to survive.

Evocative smells take us back on a whirlwind tour,

Bringing familiarity and longing to one’s heart for sure.

Cigar smoke resurrects for me the image of my father;

Jasmine evokes the comforting presence of my mother.

Baby odor summons forth the memory of mother’s milk,

Together with the soft, pudgy limbs that feel like silk.

In our memories of the distant past, nothing has changed;

My mother’s voice, my father’s hand, nothing rearranged.

Sounds as well have a way of taking us unexpectedly back,

Filling empty coffers of the mind with memories we lack.

The sonorous melodies of Gregorian chant fill my aging soul,

In my youth, I sang such somber harmonies to make me whole.

Bird chatter in the morning, in the woods, in the trees at sunset,

Whether whispering or howling, the winds stir memories of regret.

Nothing can compare to the message in the sweet patter of rain,

Or the thunderous roar of winter hail knocking on my windowpane.

The dragon flies how they scared me, the fireflies did thrill me;

The buzz of the bees and whispers of the butterflies did chill me.

The apple trees in late summer, the falling sound of ripe fruit;

The silence of mountains speaks of mystery, even though mute.

And then there are the eyes and what they remember as blessing;

The first time I laid my eyes on her as if the unknown addressing.

I cannot forget the wistful clouds I saw atop that mountain peak,

Nor the bird’s-eye vista of the valleys spread before me at my feet.

All our days are measured and so too memories drop by drop,

Lovingly poured from the cup of the heart until they finally stop.

All things existing on earth, even our memories, have their day,

They each have their moment, fill hearts, then drift quietly away.

The last light of the evening, never again to be stolen by night;

The last snowfall never again to descend as a peaceful sight.

The last eagle to soar through the heavens thru wind and rain;

The last poppy to wave its farewell across the Andalusian plain.

To brotherly love, to undying love, may they stand the test of time,

And all those glorious miracles of the earth that I claim as mine.

Yawning buds blooming in May, the falling leaves of September;

These the memorable things I treasure that no one will remember.

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(c) John Herlihy December 2018