Where are the friendly neighbour's kids with whom we once held court,
while sharing one's bright treasured wares with others once was sought?
I yearn for those bright childhood years where troubles once we'd share,
awash are great past memories of the dear folk who would care.

Locked doors and higher fences now, are not so very kind.
Those cold and empty yards will render poor souls hard to find.
By building forts so very strong we'll turn all hearts to stone,
by building mighty monuments -- a desert's icy throne,

Obelisks are playing tricks on hearts so bruised with hurt,
of folk employed yet so devoid. with selfish thought they flirt.
When I was young the songs were sung within a friendly room
but now a dirge, infection's splurge, is sung with gusto's gloom.

Possessions seem to be the source on which our mansion's built,
and yet the glow we put on show will stand on sand and silt.
I yearn for those bright childhood years where troubles once we'd share,
awash are great past memories of the dear folk who would care.


R.Owen 28/05/2020