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.
This is my favourite kind of weather
Rumbling, thundering, broody sky.
The rain and lightning...
We sit opposite at the table
You have reached your hand to mine
They clasp...