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.
Though you cannot see my face
Let this note for now replace
That far from lovely feature...
Still it haunts me that I went –
That I must go again –
To that woman with morals bent...
