When I lived in the village, I remember there stood
a lovely white cottage at the edge of the wood
With its whitewashed walls in the sun how they shone
But sadly I went back and my dream house had gone
Instead of old walls where wisteria grew thick
Was a blot on the landscape, all glass and red brick.
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My writing, my books, my poetry and a bit of running.
Brett Kristian
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Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
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And I’m sure that has happened to many a person. Our childhood memories destroyed in the changing times
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Great poem, Bobby. I try to avoid going back to places for exactly this reason! 🙂
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