I’m old

The patterns were nice, that the ice drew inside the windowpanes

Of course I reminisce
And call to mind the times I miss:
Green places that I used to go
(Now paved)
Kind faces that I used to know
(Now graved)
I’ll hum tunes from the songs we sung
Long years ago when I was young
And, some days, when I watch the news
I’m tempted to expound my views
That those, my friend, were simpler times.

They weren’t.

There were crimes, cities wild.
I saw life simply, as a child.
But my Nan’s face was etched with care
As she shouted: ‘Life’s not fair!
You’d best grow up and just accept!’

But there were secrets that she kept.
There was much she kept from me,
In hopes that I could grow up free.

And I determined then and there
I’d work to make this world more fair.

Cos, I’ll admit,
I broke, inside, a little bit
Every time that I was hit.

Yes.

The patterns were nice, that the ice drew inside the windowpanes
But
chill-blains
and hunger pains.

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