Looking at old black and white photographs, the years have slipped away. Innocent days of my childhood untouched by life then. Discovering the bluebell woods, the river Cart, hearing grannies stories of the past. Singing hymns at Christmas in the chapel, I recall scenes of long ago. Free as a bird, in flight.
Michael Cochrane ©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem