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.
Roar away my feisty snorer
Whilst I leave to have a pee
What could frighten an adorer...
From kitchen to the garden, from the garden to the skies
This is my world of Thursdays where you, the very moon...
