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.
Reaching out across this day,
Missing you in every way,
I feel such desire to delight...
I hardly dare to write. You open a door,
A pile of crushing cares stacked up behind it
Tumble on you, and smothers: the great store...
