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.
When we talk of serious things
And you are fond with word and touch
A mighty pleasure through me sings...
They say the street is swept and cleaned by sunrise
At nine the traffic stops and blackbirds sing...
