Yesteryears

The rocking chair squeaks, as it rocks to and fro. An old man is dreaming, of yesterdays many years ago. He dreams of the woman, who’d one day be his wife. He sees how things used to be, when he was a lad. Reflects on the changes, that have come and gone. The peace and the quiet, shattered by the society of busy feet. The countryside that disappears, at an alarming rate, as developers seal each acres fate. Gone is the fresh air, everyone one used to breath. Now clogged with fumes, of petrol and diesel. Oh, yesteryears, where have you gone? Lost to the winds, like a small bird’s song. 7 Sept.1995