White Sand

Her little memories bubble up

Like white sand in a spring,

Each grain a petrified event

Of time's meandering.

Though most of it is trivia,

Odd bits of joy and pain,

As distant as the echoes

Of the pattering of rain,

 

Her gentle reminiscing--

My fine disdain apart--

Turns back the dimming pages

Of the annals of the heart.

 

When the white sand settles

And the spring runs dry,

Who will keep the record

Of an era going by?