I'd rather not obsess about the past
And yet my mind is ever drawn that way;
I cannot put by thoughts of yesterday,
And further back, I worry what may last
From what you were before me, and so cast
Some shadow on the present when I say
An innocent remark, that somehow may
In unknown context be a bitter blast.
So though I'd rather in an ideal world
Be ignorant of what has gone before,
Keeping our prior doings tightly furled
And clinging to each other even more,
I cannot risk it, or my mind won't let
Me put the past away. And yet, and yet...
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