In the fireplace I burned all the cards, notes and keepsakes of us I could find. The few still scattered through my things are now each rediscovered as a greatly cherished treasure. All I have of our time are those scraps and a head full of memories that refuse to go away. J.R.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.