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.
If I could tickle your toes, my Rose
And stroke your sumptuous bottom
‘Twould mean my dear, you’re here, quite close...
They say the street is swept and cleaned by sunrise
At nine the traffic stops and blackbirds sing...
