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.
Waterloo to Brentford and back
To an horizon of writhing track
Rain on blue trains laying dust...
I do predict the evening primrose stays
Alive in some last blooms to make for you
(And me) a sudden remake of the ray....
