An Elegy (Undated)

I would run that extra mile;
I would write that extra line;
I would waketh that extra hour,
and fight sweet memories-
from turning sour...
In the brine of time.
Sweet memory pickled sublime
Until! Not a single mitten left
Or sour, diminished, totally bereft!

So then,
Let some questions unanswered remain,
And saveth us from complexities profane.
Whilst we walk our seperate ways,
For nights together and countless days;
And not a single strand of it
Be caught in banality or witty wit.
For let it sleep its peaceful sleep,
And may it not smile, sigh or weep,
And may it ne'er turn in its grave
As on its tombstone, I sit-humble and brave!
Protecting it from the brine of time,
While outside, jealousy and temptation entwine.

Amen