Clocks and calendars tell me
That many years have gone by
Since I saw my first snow at the age of three
As we moved back to Wales with a beautiful sigh
The war over, we thought we were free
Not to know that memories will fly
I remember clearly the passions of the young
And of learning, the oval ball and music of the valleys
Those are never forgotten, but are sung
In my heart, rehearsed daily
I do, sometimes, betray a name or place
But with thousands of those stored in grey matter
I can usually conjure an answer to save face
As the maturing wine replenishes the decanter
Live each moment, and park it someplace
Not to forget but not to rely on
A goal you scored, a mountain climbed so rare
Awards here and there, pride transiently upon
You settle and then makes your cupboard bare
Moving forward, memories silently gone
So, after more than my three score years and ten
I challenge my brain to remember when
I last walked that country glen
Singing John Peel do you not ken
Following the hunt over field and fen
Tickling the trout in the River Ithon
And writing my poems with a feather pen
All of a sudden my life was yuan and zen
On Table Mountain a few years back
Chasing Venus round the old wine rack
Were the signs coming from my aching back
Saying I should have noticed the almanack
Slow down take any easier track
Forget the gelding, just go with the yak
No
I’ve been happy to let my life unfold
And not remember growing old
Dublin, Ireland, August 2018
