The Diary

january 1992

The memories of long ago,
Kept in silent mystery,
Are written in these pages of life,
Where she hides her loving emotions.

Her adoring soul,
authored by the hands of her thoughts.
The passion of her youth,
Forgotten only by a little girl,
Are forever engraved in these pages.

Till that day, in which
She can no longer remember,
The book is closed,
Only to gather the dust of eternal rest.

Forever in concealed silence,
Are those pages now slumbering,
Closed, never to be opened
By the hands of another.

d. e. storey