Memory hurts – our hearts are stung
But sometimes I think the pain is for
Not a particular place but more
A special time – when we were young
For freer days when we knew hope
And what we felt we had was – scope.
When you ail you reassess
Your life with cold criteria
You feel you’re old and life’s a mess...
I love the times you call me a cunt
Though some might think it an affront
But I still bliss in knowing this...
