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.
Well, are there words to tell it all?
On eighty odd years to set the seal,
One aphoristic phrase to call...
Here in the marvellous garden
The magic shadows play;
With the sunlight’s pardon...
