Lost Love

Originally written between 1969 and 1972, this poem nearly went in the recycling.













I reworked it (a few times) to be a little less raw and more consistent with what I currently do. So ...

Lost Love 3
The things I remember are hazy and dim,
Like faint scattered sunlight on a tree limb,
Or the echoes of thunder away in the hills,
Cobwebs with dew and grey morning chills,
Cowslips, mown grass and freshly baked bread,
And people and places in books that we read.

I go through villages, places we went,
Remembering old men tired and bent,
The places look changed and the taste of them sour,
Not as they seemed then; yet for an hour
I can still see the faces of those that we knew,
But they whither and die, lost without you.

I go to the town, those same dusty roads,
The same old grey buildings crouching like toads
On the meadows of concrete, kerb stones and tar,
Grazed by the people, chewed down by cars.
Signs in shop windows, the names of the streets,
The rustle of voices, the shuffle of feet,
Remind me of laughter and when you were here,
Now the streets seem deserted, empty and drear.

Original written between 1969 and 72
Revised Sept 2007