The Sojourners pass by forget the past,
the aroma they left behind effuses their memory
to the people they smiled at, chat with, shred dust.
Forgetfulness is blessing- they say,
Yet some hearts bleed for those
who forget their given up past.
Flowers blossom and wither in time,
from a birth to the death,
All living things leave a history.
But there are Sun and Moon
never tired by their continuity,
Above all we all have to be confined in a mystery.
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