I’m reluctant to visit
the old neighborhood.
Not for my tears shed
for those I could
no longer find,
but
for the sorrow I’d feel
for those I would.

Now,
all are perfect.
Photos,
fast set,
in memory,
beautiful in youth,
a spring flower boquet,
newly blossomed
and,
if,
I,
later,
somehow discovered
their hue had passed,
well,
I would not have witnessed
the faded purple
or the browning of the leaves.

But!
To spy my first love,
stuttering her struggle home,
her glorius brunette
thinning to gray,
her gorgeous body bent
by the weight of these many years.
Or
Stevie!
My best buddy,
who may not recall
our adventures, at all
and may not be,
really,
sure of me…

I think I’ll forgo
that visit for now.
Yes, there are joys to remember.
But, some truths are better,
never,
to know.