My Favourites Poem by Julian Mann

I do not know why
I keep my favourites in my mind.
When asked who I like,
I rarely say he who is most like me.
Perhaps I think there is something
Sacred or fragile
Linked to these mythical people
That I fear will break or be exposed
When I utter their names,
But then later on I always realise
That the kind of beauty they knew,
And made with love for what they felt and saw,
Will always remain.
It cannot be swept out or contained.
It will forever pervade the silence
Of a thoughtful moment,
Like scents of flowers filling a lane,
And giving a traveller memories
He is content not to understand.