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.
The magic of many Brentford autumns
Works on me when I see great leaves
Seem more to glow with life than fade...
Who would want to dodge love’s arrows
When my Alison’s on the case?
The focus of my senses narrows
