Too oft’ I wrote for memories
I’d known in long spent youth,
And ignored the flower beside me,
Ignored her living truth.

Each day she rose, and smiling
She served me as a king.
Each day I fretted, whiling
Away the treasured thing.

The treasure there before me lay
Invisible to blinded eye.
She seeing this yet chose to stay,
Bide her time, alone to cry.

Now gone, I miss her tender kiss
Upon my cheek as sunbeams break.
I left to memories the bliss
From now alone each breath I take.