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.
Three boats ride at anchor in the calm night
Warning lights winking without respite
And the far headlands to left and right...
When I remember boyhood dreams I’m sad
That all I would accomplish was not done.
‘Not all’? I might more truthfully say...
