Memories

In a small hospital in Tehran,
The newborn baby sleeps.
Warm in a mother's arms,
Smiling with all her minute charms.
Bursting with happiness at the seams,
And playing across her face, sunbeams.
But time marches on.

Parents watching proudly,
She toddles to the window,
Pointing delightedly at the world.
She watched as the scene unfurled;
Beheld her mother and carefully,
Uttered her first world artfully.
But time marches on.

Look at the room, with so many desks,
So imposing, so daunting, alarmingly neat!
Gently fingers are pried loose of skirts,
One last tuck-in of her shirts;
The bells on the door chime,
And suddenly she is alone for the first time.
But time marches on.

Entranced, she stares at the phrases;
The words shining golden of her face,
She is immersed in their magical splendor.
Having bought with her mother the day before,
This cornocopia of enlightenment;
This cache of content.
But time marches on.

When you look into your memories,
How wonderfull the past seems,
With no worries, sadness or fears.
Remember with fondness all those years;
Those with love, kindness and pride,
That must be left behind,
When time parades on.