If old age is a second childhood
No wonder I have changed.
Those days of wandering slingshot in hand
Searching for a rabbit
Or outraged magpie,
Perhaps a startled stoat
A pheasant or duck afloat
On some shaded pond
Have gone.
Now it's hours of household chores
That take eternity, so there's never time
To contemplate
Explore hedgerows where memories lie;
A forgotten kiss or squeeze of hand
That still send shivers down the spine.
For what does the heart ache?
A second chance? Those "only's..."
Hung on a …
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