When I was young
I dreamt that I was old,
had wrinkled turkey hands
all thin and cracked,
watery eyes, a stick
to tap my way
along the village street
at close of day.
While others larked
on buses in the dark,
went to parties,
danced the night away,
I dreamt I had a stick
to tap my way
along the village street
at close of day.
Now as the night draws in,
and day is done,
I sit and dream awhile
that I was young.
Excellent shifting of perspective and word play. Really enjoyed this poem.
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Many thanks – your comment is much appreciated.
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Reblogged this on another way of saying.
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