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Poem

We all felt we were immortal
Nothing would ever change
As a child of the village with
Acres of fields to range.
All these years later 
So much has gone
Meadows under concrete
As time has moved on.

Gardens occupy those
Once informal footways
So some old shortcuts 
Are closed these days.
Most streets are signed
And have streetlights
Some of the magic gone
From dark winter nights.

The imagined invisibilty
Of roaming girls and boys
But always given away by
The chatter and the noise.
My old home and Forge Cottage
Modernised, knocked into one,
The forge yard now under grass
The farm machinery long gone. 

As a listed building the Forge,
Restored, still sadly stands
In a no longer working village 
Now mainly commuter land.
The shops now long closed
To me there’s sadness in the air
I feel no empathy or connection
With the folk now living there.

Those good old days
Were at times quite bad,
Nostalgia has Its drawbacks
But now I feel alone and sad.
Occasionally I visit graves 
But very quickly move on
I belong only to  its past 
My village now being gone.

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