Nostalgia
An hour to spare in an attic room,
watered sunlight seeping through the gloom;
a cardboard box that holds a past
of memories that could not last.
Lift the lid, and times that we once knew
come flooding back, with ribbons faded blue.
a photograph that’s mellowed now with years,
a smiling face comes clouding through the tears;
the edges turning yellow now with age,
the smile that laughed, to make a page.
That arm that beckons endlessly to me,
a promise that could never really be.
nostalgic thoughts, back to the start,
I close the lid with heavy heart,
to lock away my memories once more.
The grainy photograph above is an old print of Corsham High Street in Wiltshire, and the family home in which I grew up is on the right with the white pillars.
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