I am that visitor in your faded memory;
We’re threaded as ancient friends in braided memory.
Once, we strolled in talk on emerald hills;
They dried in drought, and have rarely bladed memory.
Together we work to weave this spanning tapestry;
Once more our gilded threads have aided memory.
Monuments of stone bear witness to ages past,
But only your words shine light on shaded memory.
To gain its home, a dove flies tossed in storm,
Its way home deeply locked in jaded memory.
My heart was crushed with anguish, but now you have come
To lift, with a longer past, my laded memory.
Zahhar is again a shuttle in the loom of time,
Yet not the weaver of his graded memory.