Stop Loss

What I have lost I never will regain;
The fire has consumed the wood to ash;
The chaff is blown, but so too is the grain,
The turnip's shape is gone into the mash.
The light that shone will never shine again,
The iron rusts into a crumbled red;
The infants have grown in older men,
The wind has carried off the words I said.
The recipe, once mixed, won't separate,
The leaves that fell will not return to green;
The hours tick past early into late,
What once I saw cannot become unseen.
But on the other hand, I can still see
All these recorded in my memory.