MEMORANDA
In your Book of Memory,
Set aside no page for me.
Do not write our friendship there,
But, if you’ve the time to spare,
Scribble just this hurried line:
“He was once a friend of mine.”
Blot it very carefully,
Turn the page that none may see.
Life goes singing down the way
Different ballads every day.
Other pages open fair,
Set new tales of friendship there.
And the day will come maybe,
When that hurried line of me;
Seen by chance a moment’s space,
Will recall a vanished face,
And a memory sweeter than
Many written pages can.