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What sayest thou, sweet memory,
how choose you what to know,
amid the host of many,
the essences which glow ?
What if once, and chance could be,
to venture back once more,
to taste again those moments;
such essence to adore.

And would that time, if passed again
with knowledge of the years,
be dulled a jot in hindsight
of suffering, and tears ?
Could it add one farthing
to how it was then known;
or is the essence greater
because the bird has flown ?

The moving finger having writ
leaves not a rack behind,
of pain, and tears, and hunger;
just the good remains in mind.
What wisdom is your judgement;
power of what will be;
such Phoenix of the ashes
which stay for all to see.

Pain carries no such essence
which lingers on in part;
yet still we're moved in memory
of that which stirred the heart.
And so it is in judgement,
where once we all must go;
'Twas not the deeds that set our course;
but how we learned to glow.

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