That Summer 1961.

The last time 

I walked down 

that country lane

it felt momentarily 

as if I were young again,

the small running stream 

rushing in over stones, 

the high hedgerows either side, 

the rooks still up 

in the tall trees, 

but you are not here, 

there is a empty space 

where once you 

walked beside me 

sixty odd years ago. 

Where you are now 

I do not know, 

a different summer is here, 

with new rooks and flowers 

and birdsong singing, 

but the same 

summer sun is shining 

as it did back then, 

but I was young 

and innocent 

of what life would bring, 

not yet taken 

my place among 

the world of men.