I wish I could have held,
Catherine Graydon's hand again,
Stared at Melanie McCloud,
Whilst others read aloud,
One more time,
To sit topless,
Barefoot,
In the Derwent,
With Ruth Gray,
With her went,
My childhood dreams,
Of romance,
She grew up,
Became sensible,
And so should my dreams,
And so,
Should I,
But somewhere deep down,
Childhood refuses to die out,
It holds on to the coat-sleeves of time,
Stamps it's feet,
Incomplete,
The changing of the Guard is hard,
From boy to man,
from was to am,
And the essence of the dream,
Remains a theme,
That refuses to stay out of my story,
Escape,
Into imagined landscapes,
Of love
M Joseph Burt (July 2007)
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