Please, bottle these scents for me,
A drop of each to cherish endlessly.
For I can’t carry them along my way;
They live only in memory, where they’ll stay.
Roses fail to capture my heart,
And Jasmine, too, plays a lesser part.
Their fragrances fill shelves with ease—
Too common, too simple, and easy to please.
But not the scents of days gone by,
The ones that keep my spirit high.
Please note them down, dear perfumer, please,
And capture for me these memories.
The fragrance of clothes dried in the sun—
Their warmth weave magic when the day is done.
The smell of old books, with loosened spines,
In my father’s study, where wisdom shines.
The scent of a cat’s soft, powdery fur,
Sweet like cake, calm as their gentle purr.
The mild, milky scent of a baby’s head,
And Grandma’s hands, worn and wise in their stead.
The verdant scent of the freshly cut grass,
The wind by the sea where brackish breezes pass.
The earthy musk of rain on arid ground,
These are the smells in which comfort is found.
So bottle these scents, take all the time,
I’ll wait as you craft each one to prime.
And when at last they’re ready for me,
I’ll cherish them, my memories, set free.