What makes a memory?

Is it the taste?
Is it the scenery?
May hap it be the people along the way,
The sun rides high on the crimson sky,
No twilight do I see

The corpses of
long sadnesses seem past.
The new dawn awakes,
the mountain of sudden ecstasy laughs.
No cloud do I see

The cloudy burst
along the mountain's almond crust,
cannot stem the joy
of the climb and the exuberance.
No shadows can i hear

Random joys seem to be the best,
no sorrows can they contain.
The only thought of spring and sun,
can make winds sing again
Simply joy!


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