When youth and I walked hand in hand
My mind a well of dreams,
As clear as skies without a cloud
As pure as mountain streams.
They shone like April blossoms
And they warmed me like the morn,
They sparkled like the summer dew
And ripened like the corn.
They drifted like an autumn mist
Then fell like leaves of gold,
When winter came they all were lost
As dreams of youth grew old.
Hello Andrew yes i remember it well though its long long ago.A lovely poem well done you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I've felt like that a few times myself. Writing helps keep my brain working though (well, ticking over)