Saturday, 2 June 2018

run me a jig


but of course, it is the secret ways, where
  to be on your own, down the tell-you ways,
is to walk down there, to go that way,
  to be where all the long-ago times lie.

castle cloistered or cemetery interred,
  beach cove coasted,
or down the wooded childhood ways,
  where, fun-sunned and roasted,
or running cold down derelict lanes, is
  to be where all the long-ago times lie.
  
and running the heathered hills again,
  or fishing through the night, or
running rings around the park bell parkie,
  when all the naughty boys are set to flight;
then, and only then, is every village lane 
  a minded, to write about today tonight, and
to be where all the long-ago times lie.

and so we were,
  we were,
and so we did,
  we did,
and so we are,
  so there you are.

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