I look back along the muddy road How much to me the dirt bestowed Occasional sun, in patches bright Left imprinted a joyful sight Sometimes the clouds stayed overhead Let fall the sky, faltered my thread Alas, my glasses are not the same Youthful whirls no longer a game Smudged long worn, my teeth are yellow With turns of mind a lot more mellow My ups and downs a landscape form Waiting for next tinkle or storm A million dreams in a washing machine Mischievous memory never clean Back up the path, synapses contort The colours bend and clarity thwart Wile glue diversions blend again the fragments Blindly on, we ignore enchantments But spell we do, and is done unto us Dribbling dictionaries without a fuss Playing with a litter of labels How fervently we wish to turn the tables How clever and right we strive to be From little we come, how little we see Ahead I strain to read the road And guess at how all will unfold Planning, wishing or crystal ball Anxiously waiting for cards to fall As present slides into the past Now is upon us all too fast How incautiously the moment comes, rudely leaves, and rhymes, and hums Time, my dear, plays on its tune Lately, insistently, and all too soon You and I, and round to us Cannot escape the temporal fuss.
