The little things that happen

Are tucked into your mind

And come again to greet you

Or most of them you’ll find

Through many little doorways

Of which you keep the keys

They crowd into your thinking

We call them memories

But some of them are rovers

And wander off and get

So lost the keys go rusty

And that means you forget

But some stay ever near you

You’ll find they never rove

The keys are always shining

Those are the ones you love

(Written by Marjorie Wilson)


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