Imagination is my recompense
For my poor memory, a leaky cup,
Or hoary mental matter grown dense:
What I cannot remember, I make up.
Yet, would I trade with those who don’t forget,
Who can repeat verbatim all their past,
Whose brains are perfect catalogs just set
For recitation from the facts amassed?
As much as I admire these prodigies
And praise their disposition to recall
Events from their respective histories,
Such memory is less a gate than wall.
Of all the talents you or I might mention,
I’d rather have invention than retention.