The Garden of Mnemosyne

Mnemosyne's garden is a curious thing,
it exists in our stories and the songs that we sing.

Mnemosyne's garden contains years of art,
A much cherished place; a work of heart.

In Mnemosyne's garden all sorts of blooms grow,
From bright, passion flowers to petals white as snow.

Each time a flower grows in her nurtured ground,
Mnemosyne knows that beauty can be found.

She tends to each blossom with gentleness and care,
From the delicate petals of first love with flowers so rare.

To the robust bloom of childhood with petals of pink,
and the stoic leaves of heartbreak, black as ink.

Mnemosyne nurtures each memory with the gentleness of a dove,
The hateful ones along with those grown from love.

Each one is precious in its own way,
Each one grows strong...until along comes a day.

Mnemosyne watches in sorrow as the first petal falls,
She sheds a tear for each vine withered from the walls.

Although it's inevitable that each garden should die,
Mnemosyne tries to save what she can, all the while, she cries.

Not because she has failed no, she cries for the blooms,
The garden of memories that the reaper always dooms.

As each petal falls the garden fades away,
What once held bright colors is withered and grey.

But not all blooms are lost! Some will remain,
Like the thrill of riding a bike, or a first kitten's name.

Some will wonder, "Why these flowers? They don't matter"
"Why keep such mundane flowers while new, sparkling ones scatter?"

To this, Mnemosyne replies,
"Each petal is a pillar, without them, a person becomes lost,
bitter"

You see in this garden there's always some hope,
As long as one flower remains a person can cope.

But eventually, even the greatest gardens fall,
No more brand-new blooms...no more flowers standing tall.

But does Mnemosyne leave? No, not quite yet,
She has one more important job that many forget.

She gathers the seeds from the blooms that once grew,
Carefully, she picks a new garden and sprinkles them through.

A new garden inside our children, their children, their future,
They'll help grow a garden where our memories are nurtured.

If we are good and true beings there is no doubt,
That Mnemosyne will scatter our memories throughout.

But beware: Mnemosyne will close the gate
on wilted gardens filled with the seeds of hate.

Tend your memories, a secret garden within you and me,
Live cosmic, eternal in the Garden of Mnemosyne.