Packing memories in a battered trunk
Looking round to see what's left;
Hoping that my dreams haven't sunk
Just because they're out of sight.
There's an envelope of old school reports
And the certificates I won for swimming;
In goes a box of allsorts
Things too small to be counted apart.
One day they'll all emerge again
Covered in dust and spider webs;
By which time I'll have eased the pain
That reminds me of my younger days.
The days when I was both wild and free
No one person could tie me down;
Now on looking back I see
Those days have gone forever.
©
Heather Rimmer 1985 
