To be forgotten, is it such a terrible thing?
Must we to memory forever cling?
No, no, I wish to leave with no trace
Every word I said and wrote be erased
Let there be no image, in mind or frame
Let not even a fleeting thought of me remain
Oh, but a forget-me-not is a little flower
And I planted many, in long-lost hours
But it is not my love that will be remembered
Rather my shame is to be my measure
Little flowers, would you hear my cries?
Might you forget instead, that I may peacefully die?