Memories

When I look back on many years of life,

Fond memories come flitting through my mind.

Recalling all the good things, not the strife,

I see a world once rosy and so kind.

We children did not fear to walk to school.

So keen to learn, we never cried, ‘I’m bored.’

Possessions few we had to share and pool.

A deadly sin was greed. We did not hoard.

Those golden years, alas, were tinged with rust.

My sister died before the NHS.

On hands and knees to tackle dirt and dust

My mother’s role was as a slave, I guess.

My hair’s now white: my face is lined with years;

Yet still I’ll live each hour and banish tears.