SELECTIVE MEMORY

[Anyone got any answers?]

Why is it I only remember
Those things I would rather forget?
Why can’t I blot out the sorrows,
But cling to the happiness yet?
When the dear Lord gave me my memory,
I wish he had left me to choose
Which memories should perish,
And which I should cherish,
And which I should keep and which lose.

I’d remember my sons’ lovely childhood,
But I’d wipe out the tantrums and tears.
I would savour their triumphs
Through schooldays,
Forgetting the not-so-bright years.
I would see them as lads to be proud of,
Not yobbos with spots and a glower,
Their girlfriends quite charming,
Demure, unalarming,
Not a bit like the actual shower.

And then I’d remember their weddings,
With my hat as an instant success.
I’d forget the depressing
Effect of my dressing,
And the fact that my hair was a mess.
My memory would only remind me
Of the charm which I oozed from each pore,
And my daughters in law
Would applaud me,
Smiling graciously at the Church door.

But the Lord, he insists I remember
My life as it actually was:
The life of an ordinary woman -
It is this I remember because
There’s my fair share of joy and of sorrow,
My ration of tears and of mirth.
The Lord has been good to me,
More than he should to me:
How could I ask more on this earth?
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