Forget Me Not

On that meadow 
Far above the clouds I witnessed the mountains and the blue flowers. 
The sound of the wind in my ears, the softness of the dew on my skin, 
I blinked, to see more. 
I twirled, I wept, 
I knew I would leave, and the memory  would be lost. The experience would dim. 
I wanted the scene forever before my eyes. the flowers, and the white spring mists.

Memory  is flawed even at the moment of presence. The meaning of the scene (the beholder's psyche) influences the memory* of it. 

Anahita Bagheri
*visual memory