Back In Time Poem by John Carter Brown

I wish I was back on the old cinder paths
and off to the woods with my mates;
rooting around in the hedges and fields,
going home in a dirty old state.

'Black as an ousel' as Mum used to say,
and covered in scratches and grime;
searching for nests in the hawthorn trees,
just having a whale of a time.

Off to Springs Branch to check out the trains,
and jot down all of the numbers
of the Brits and the Jubs that stood in the sheds,
in their steamy mechanical slumbers.

Super-long summers, or so now they seemed,
with the winters now all but dismissed;
excepting the slides on the estate streets,
such a shame that no photos exist.

Such a shame father time has stolen my strength,
and games I can no longer play,
as I, once again, as if cyclicly bound
into old reminiscences, stray.

Then how can it be, I keep asking myself,
that inside I am still a young lad;
and are all of my memories a blessing, or curse,
both making me happy and sad?

When I think of these times, it's all I can do
to control all the pleasures they bring;
they well up inside, but then sink into pain...
what a strange paradoxical thing.

(Written August 2015)