A perfume Souvenir

Every memory can sound or can even incense
Sensed in the heart where emotions are kept
And each time has its Ethos faithfully bequeathed
A rich past sending back a soulful Nostalgia
 
Only a mile and a half, to the wide canyon
The deep pit, left by a golden age old quarry
The place is derelict, a prey to rotting decay
Betwixt the pines and the river, nobody ever cares
 
An age of old, and of bold youth and glory
A time to venture into the unbelievable story
Racing against dark, against snakes, against fear
Chasing the birds in the pitch dark of midnight
 
In the heart of the forest, the quarry used to roar
A growling thunder of a massive head with open mouth
Swallowing the raw stones, crashing them into dust
Where by which workers, at risk to be buried alive
 
The quarry, now holds only a deep large crater
The growling machine turned into mumbled murmurs
Heard, when a trip thru' memory lane is taken
And the trees, by some winter gust will be shaken
 
For memories have always sound, taste and perfume
Where by the cypress forest edge, their grew daisies
Poppies and small lizards that would zigzag between.
A turtle and a spinning bee, wildly chased by an angry drone