I often see through the cobwebs of my mind,
a time that I once knew, one of a gentler kind.
Children at play did safely gimble and gamble,
and joyous laughter did precede their ramble
in field and through copse and uncluttered street.
I see old friends unchanged by time, who meet
in places; that for me will never be any different.
For memory locks them away in a curious quadrant,
to which only the mind can provide the opening clue
to that which lies in the past; yet remains vaguely new.
“Time fly’s on wings and cannot be called back,
for it passes forward along it onward trackâ€Â.*
Common sense will deny the truth of such lines,
for the memory may resurrect treasured past times.
In old age and with recollections growing ever more dim,
some face in a crowd will have me think “I know himâ€Â.
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