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Poem

To lost friends
I have opened the window and inhale the summer
Some of the cottages I see, made of stone and lime are empty, their owners have gone home to their birthplace, where they died waiting for surgery, elderly they died of heart problems and of the dreaded cancer.
Empty houses are a sad sight, bought by those dreaming
of a peaceful retirement, spending time repairing their 
homes and drinking red wine at sunset
When illness struck and old age beckoned, they went back where their heart belonged, the pub and the betting shop
what do I know, my home is where I live at the time,
but I do remember a childhood of poverty and need
and child labor.
I'm no longer sure if my youth was a dream or something I have read in books, I sometimes think I have spent too much time reading, or I didn't care about the past of sorrow.
I was in love once, but when rejected I nearly jumped
into the waterfall, but the water was too cold which
tells me my intention was not that profound 
Year when abused by an orphanage while waiting for 
my mother to come home from the sanatorium
I dreamily think of snow falling gently to go for a walk on overgrown tracks

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