Memento

Memento – a quiet whisper of the past,
a worn silver key in a pocket of memories,
a scrap of paper, ink still trembling with the colour of time.

It is the moment when the present pauses,
when the mind flicks its eyes back to a childhood garden,
the scent of rain on cobbles, the echo of a school bell turning out the day's last‑minute lesson.

A memento is more than a thing –
it is a breath held between two heartbeats,
a reminder that history is stitched into the fabric of the day.

In the glow of a candle‑lit Lancaster,
a faded photograph in a tin box,
the eyes in it staring back like something half‑forgotten at the back of the world.

It is the gentle pull of a piano note that once filled a hall,
the distant laugh from the pub, the clink of a pint glass,
all waiting patiently for the current to catch up.

So hold it close, that fragile scrap, that old leather,
and let the world turn quietly around you,
as the memento keeps the past’s heartbeat steady,
an unseen rivet keeping the present whole.