I have left the town of my birth
With her wide fields and copses dark
Running free as a small wild child
For that is what I surely was
Dirty knees, shoes and ragged pants
We’d shout and tease the girls around
A grin upon my dirty face
As I would run from place to place
I’ve traveled far, so far away
Why did I leave those tinkling streams
The lurking foxes and squirrels red
Placid cattle and hooting owls
We climbed the trees and forts did make
Then stooked the hay in harvest time
Late home for tea on each fine day
All us kids sad to end our play
I left because the clock ticked on
The seasons changed and I did too
First I wore those long trousers grey
A combed my hair all by myself
Now I saw each girl with new eyes
And I blushed when they laughed at me
But gladly would go back there again
As growing old is such a painImage found at www.digitalmanphotography.com
How great those memories of youth can be.. I guess the older we get the nicer it feels compared to the pain of aging,
ReplyDeleteChildhood..the nostalgia is always painfully lovely...
ReplyDeleteDo we go back to place or time or feeling..i suppose we must comb our hair..smile and move on..but how good to go back if the days were truly good then...made me think of Laurie Lee...
ReplyDeletelove the sylvan setting you've sketched...alas, this realm of dream is lost forever...a beautiful poem...
ReplyDeleteYes, it is. I left the place of my birth, but then spent years finding my way back. And things changed you know. It was not the same, but it still felt warm enough to be glad I was home.
ReplyDeleteThe seasons changed and I did too
ReplyDeleteWith time our bodies..train of thought and priorities tend to change.. we often reflect back on the past..assuming that it was better than the present.
Oh yes, sometimes one wishes one could go back to those former places and former times again! I enjoyed the nostalgia here....but doubt I would like to live through the 'growing up' years a second time.
ReplyDeleteAt least one can return to innocent play in memory! I'm told aging can take us back too, but I guess I'm not old enough to feel that yet. Oh--about your comment on "Blood"--I don't believe in your wickedness because I read your poetry!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. I loved the last para especially.
ReplyDeleteAn estrangement grows when you go somewhere new and have to re-craft your identity, but then, change is inevitable, Robin.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem. The memories are an integral part of you –- you didn’t choose them, they chose you, like family. :) Lovely....
Oh, my dear sir, how your poem brings to mind my beloved island, the sting of every skinned knee that the child me minded to little because we were unstoppable... The body grows older much faster than the mind, and as the fall speaks of winter, my body aches feel ancient. Your words sing to me today... ♥
ReplyDeleteI love the happy looking back, then the poignant contrast of the older narrator. How this poem resonates with me. Now all that swift running reduced to a hobble (in my case) Sigh. I do love the way the hay is "stooked" in the photo - here they bale them in rectangles - or else in huge rolled batches wrapped in plastic for winter.
ReplyDeleteI too left my home and travelled and am now finally in place that is my home. Not the home of my youth but the home of my heart. And growing older is definitely not for wimps! I may grow older but I refuse to grow up! Spencer is Kanzensakura
ReplyDeleteThese memories are sweet. Watching aging with my parents, and feeling your pain. A lovely poem. Sorry having technical difficulties. My poem is at tsdwords.WordPress.com
ReplyDeleteWith you all the way on this - so very evocative - I'd be back there with you too, in flash - given the chance... With Best Wishes Scott www.scotthastie.com
ReplyDeleteLuv the nostalgia of youth. In every grown person, there this this tug, if there is happiness in those past day
ReplyDeleteHave a nice Sunday
Much love...
Oh this was wonderful Robin and I laughed as I reached the end with a wide grin...for I too left the place of my birth, but would gladly go back to play where I grew up! Seems we are both thinking of play today....
ReplyDeleteI love how your poem nods to the cycles of our life and how we move on and eventually return in what we need. Not without that twinge of nostalgia, that helps to drive us on...
ReplyDeletethe ending line was straightforward and honest. a serious sentiment. .
ReplyDeleteI have left the town of my birth - also. All those memories! I think it is the lack of those little touchstones: a particular house, a bridge, a fountain - that one doesn't have, when one moves away (to conjure forth those youthful days) ... that are missed, so much. A beautiful write!
ReplyDeleteHow great was it when young. How life had the fine moments and changed with age. How one yearned again for the freedom when really aged! Reality beats them all!
ReplyDeleteHank
Your last line keeps repeating in my head, as I struggle with arthritis pain and other gifts of age. You have good memories of your place of birth and write about it so tenderly. I enjoyed reading this.
ReplyDeleteSometimes youthful memories carry with us to help make the journey easier on the road ahead..it is nice to visit those places of heart.
ReplyDeleteMemories of youth...love revisiting them.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully painted...a picture of memories and nostalgia
ReplyDeleteYes the old and young in memory.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely, if homesick, recreation of childhood!
ReplyDeleteNice memory, but we're able to turn growing older in new adventure and experience, just as we done in young years....
ReplyDelete