I dreamed, last night
That we were walking through the forest
As shades of our former selves.
Not at-a-time but all at once, it seemed
From schoolboy humour through to jobs and ‘scenes’
I could not help but cry with increasing intensity
About the younger selves that I begin to miss terribly.
My friends, we happy few, we laughed
Each in-joke crystallising into another’s spark
With intellect and casual stupidity
Our walk ended too rapidly for me.
I miss the pain I used to think I bore
Regret the times I made a poor excuse
I loved you then, and it hurts now, for sure,
To see our shades walking in older men’s shoes.
It’s not so easy being debonair
When everyone is anxious, and our youthful indiscretions
Have ruined our digestions and our hair.