Stick

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.

3 thoughts on “Stick

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