Autumnal Song

Autumnal Song Memories are not crystal clear they are like a broken mirror upon which the sun sometimes shines, the residue of the imagined what ensued or will happens are of equal interest and as time does not move only things within does the past and future is the same, yet it pains me I shall not see my savannah again and I have no pictures to prove it existed and the field of the tall grass. I see no giraffes or wildebeest I have sold my motorbike can no longer pretend to be a great adventurer, but what I do remember through the haze of none events were my private happiness, perhaps that to was an illusion a vision of human disappointment to try but never succeed.