Perspective (Poetry)
25th January 2016
Is this the same bright moon we saw
so long ago when we were young?
And was it here — this very spot
those tender words rolled off your tongue?
The sky’s as dark, the moon’s as full
the hill is just as brightly lit
but all around the view has changed —
it’s not how I remember it.
The line of oaks that stood so proud
are missing from the hill’s green brow
the fields have vanished — in their place
all I can see are houses now.
The dusty lane we used to walk
is tarmac — miles of hedges gone
so, too, deep banks of flowers, plus
the gate I loved to swing upon.
It might well be the same bright moon
that shines — though lately it seems cold
and less romantic ... but maybe
perspectives change as eyes grow old.
so long ago when we were young?
And was it here — this very spot
those tender words rolled off your tongue?
The sky’s as dark, the moon’s as full
the hill is just as brightly lit
but all around the view has changed —
it’s not how I remember it.
The line of oaks that stood so proud
are missing from the hill’s green brow
the fields have vanished — in their place
all I can see are houses now.
The dusty lane we used to walk
is tarmac — miles of hedges gone
so, too, deep banks of flowers, plus
the gate I loved to swing upon.
It might well be the same bright moon
that shines — though lately it seems cold
and less romantic ... but maybe
perspectives change as eyes grow old.