I AM she who forgets not,
The other women forget, and so they can be happy,
But I am always wretched, because I must remember,
⁠And Memory is so sad.

⁠I had a dream of Memory,
Her two hands held two sorrows:
⁠One sorrow was a sword,
⁠A sword to pierce my heartstrings,
The memory of my daughter, the little one who died.
⁠One sorrow was a snake,
⁠A snake to sting my bosom,
The memory of the woman, who stole my husband’s love.

⁠I am she who forgets not,
⁠And Memory is so sad!