to lost friends

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