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.
Three boats ride at anchor in the calm night
Warning lights winking without respite
And the far headlands to left and right...
What people see when they enter our home
Is not a shabbiness, a bit of dust
The wear in carpets, evidence of rust...
