Little glimpses — scenes of gold,
a village life, I’m nine years bold,
enjoying winter’s frozen things,
bursts of nesting birds in spring,
emerald leaves are clothing trees,
the lazy buzz of bumble bees,
horse chestnut flakes aretumbling down,
I’m crunching through them on the ground.
The innocence of not knowing much,
about failure, fear, lost love’s cold touch,
judging, shame, feeling less than,
uncertain how to be a man.
I miss a world where seasons mattered,
poetry rhymed, typewriters clattered,
the freshness of young dreams still mattered.