The Kissing Gate

‘far from the madding crowds’ and cars this green and pleasant land of ours conceals behind its dry stone walls secrets, streams and waterfalls where stepping stones that gather moss shine forth and tempt us both across to distant fields of eighties’ skies now clouded through autumnal eyes where sheep still bleat as we both pass along old paths of weathered grass rekindling thoughts as each track weaves of first love, hope and burning leaves that once infused a simpler air but linger still inside somewhere to guide us on those wistful miles through woods, past farms and over stiles in search of where we sat and spent time dreaming dreams of dreams we dreamt over the hills and far away inside a world called yesterday and where we’d stay ‘til light turned late in fields beyond the kissing gate where now through smiles and gentle tears reflecting on those forty years it feels like time has flown so fast since young love asked if love could last.