Time is a passing theme of relativity;
A repeating rhythm that follows a sensible pattern.
The same but always different.
Age is but a number by which days are counted.
A number nodding at nothing to give one credit
To Hours, age, time. Years.

The memories of the day they past
Flutter past recollection into the open space
Above the heads of everyone around us.


There are however some memories that stay put
The important ones stick in stone standing beside us
Like the sphinx of Egypt, standing against the weathering of time.


They stick by us.
Because they are important.