Memory Is a Mother
 
Memory is the mother
of all the arts: the Muses
must weave loose thoughts together
for meaning to arise.
 
But arts are for the living,
and at life's end, thought flows
away and form diffuses,
its crystal shapes dissolving.
 
The thread outlasts the weaver,
and, grieving, we discover
why memory is a mother,
and oblivion, a river.

Susan McLean

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Susan McLean   would be pleased to hear them