Turner Lane 1949

Infinite days still linger in country lane of heavenly delight, where we tasted the freshness of life or was it all, just a game? It seemed so perfect there before infancy taken alas to masquerade in a strange world a culture godforsaken. Yet! One can hope the carousel of a diligent life still spinning will respect the eternal gradient then stop at the beginning. I search to find the evidence of what once was ours, but like the swiftness of the stream the simplicity fades with the hours. I’ve strived but failed to turn back the tide submitted to life’s precarious frame, yet when I close my weary eyes to me you’re just the same. © Harry J Horsman 1999