When I am old and struggling to move,
I’ll think about you here, upon this beach;
Though many sorrows, pains there be that prove
That youth and all its warmth are beyond reach,
But only physically. For in my mind
I’ll see your hat, your tan, the lotion smell,
And know that while we left such days behind,
They live in those who still recall them well.
For I’ve known pain. I’ve known it by the hour;
It never leaves except to come again —
But memories of what is good have power
To lighten, some, the ladenest of men.
By this small thing, to spare your skin from rays,
I get the gift of better older days