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The Old Prides
The old rails for the old carts.
The soot stains on the old timbers.
The old smoke of the steam train
In the cold air a lost smell still lingers
The old chuggs of the old barge.
The towpaths with the hoof marks.
The stone bridge lit by the moons arc
The old man with his old pipe listens to the skylarks as the daylight dwindles.
The old pride of a smart tie with a straight back and a warm pint in the free time.
The old eyes over an old smile still twinkle.
The old prides of the old ways. The past times of the old days. The lost laughs from the old mates. The shoe shine next to the fireplace.
The long line through your life’s scape connects you back to the old ways and a lost time where simple things did joy make, in the world of your memories.
Copyright ©
A Yorkshire Poet
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