I look back upon my life at sixty-three.

I treasure each and every good memory.

However, though I wonder to myself if I remember these

Or is the many times I have heard my mother shoot the breeze.

She would tell of my adventures for her own point of view.

If I could ask her I would say, “are these my memories or did they come from you?

I have heard you tell of them so many times

They reverberate within my heart and they seem like rimes.

I know they are true but I wonder to myself if I would remember them at all

If you have not permanently scrolled them into my very soul.

Maybe I should not spend so much time wondering and simply enjoy

These wonderful memories of when I was a boy.