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.
These autumn days I’m chuffed inside
No chat about the ‘dying year’
Just how glad I am I’m here...
Sun long gone soon after four
Trees against the sky, no more
With leaves, they claw the dimming cloud...
