I recall a day, a sky-blue day,
Still in my head, yet far away.
When first you led my mind astray
And left me vanquished, come what may,
The day I saw you cool, serene;
When you were simply sweet sixteen.

For, as swinging years were new
And careless days, about us, grew
And you walked, sudden, into view
Along the leafy avenue.
The day I saw you cool, serene;
When you were simply sweet sixteen.

Your hair shone brightly in the light,
As noonday sun had reached its height;
As you came dancing into sight
And I would gaze, as well I might,
The day I saw you cool, serene;
When you were simply sweet sixteen.

I knew that from that moment, there,
A certain stirring charged the air
And by that lime tree yonder, where,
You passed me by without a care.
The day I saw you cool, serene;
When you were simply sweet sixteen.

And thoughts came flooding, unforeseen,
And such a day had never been.
Yet still, the thrill is evergreen
When you were, then, the Maytime Queen.
The day I saw you cool, serene;
When you were simply sweet sixteen.

No longer the leaves show their full summer green,
As this cool autumn day
Takes their own youth away
As it once did with me a long time ago...
As forty short years have now seen
(But are the leaves still beautiful?)

Green changes to gold, as now it must,
Though more subtle to see
(Floating down from a tree)
As it is with myself, as I know well;
Soon we will both (the leaves and I) turn to dust
(But are the leaves still beautiful?)

Resplendent leaves no longer steep in the sun;
As I walk down life's lane
With the wind and the rain
I see myself, see what I now am.
I see my own autumn has begun
(But are the leaves still beautiful?)

Wrinkled, and as delicate and brittle
As the twig and the nut,
As they snap underfoot,
They became so downtrodden
And are now applauded little
(But are the leaves still beautiful?)

Then suddenly appears a seasonal breeze;
Where it blows all around
Swirling there on the ground
And the frail, weak leaves are parted...
Stolen from their home in the trees
(But are the leaves still beautiful?)

And as darkness falls o'er the wooded scar
The time is now nigh
For leaves to blow by...
To yield to a greater influence than I
(But are the leaves still beautiful?)
Yes, they are!

Far away over meadows, fields and hills
Or through oak woodland which is ever sweet;
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.

Early morning, amid the dewy chills
Where a dawn kissed grassland moistens the feet
Far away over meadows, fields and hills.

A perfumed carpet your raw sense it fills
With a yellow trumpeted aspect replete
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.

And by the noon, as mid-day sunlight spills,
I wander onward down a floral street
Far away over meadows, fields and hills.

By farmstead ruins and old water mills
Where sheep now dwell and brightly bleat and eat,
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.

So, the land where the poet whet his skills
I walk at springtime in nature's elite.
Far away over meadows, fields and hills
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.

The place I lived when I was ten
I sometimes think of there, and then,
And when I'm drowsing in my chair
My dozy thoughts go back to there.

I rest nearby a fireside glare
A glass in hand and here is where
I think of things I used to do
When I was merely eight and two.

But this was when my world was new,
And in the hours before I grew,
Outside the door and down the way,
For, this is where I used to play.

When all the words I used to say
Concerned such things as came that day.
I hear the songs I used to sing
And all the joy that they would bring.

No more I live where I was king
Yet still the memories from there ring.
I've been aside so long a time
Yet still the memories from there chime.

So, as I dream of days, sublime;
As recollections higher climb;
I sometimes, now, remember when...
And how I wish that I was ten.

Those were the days my friend, how blessed we were
Although, in past quandam days, knew it not.
Home to us was warm and dry, sound and safe.

Not called on to fight, we had years to play,
Free of conscripted combat ~ with time to ****;
Time to learn, time to listen, time to speak.

Clothes were brightly colourful and charming,
Hair long and flowing ~ blowin' in the wind.
Money no object ~ or so it would seem.

The world appeared to be as a fairground,
A hall of mirrors in which to reflect;
The tunnel of love was always with us.

We played our music and we rocked-'n'-rolled
Our hearts evoked by transistors not sense;
Twisting the night away, far away, lost.

We thought those days, my friend, would never end,
Timeless days of golden spring and summer.
There were no clouds to keep secret the skies.

Yet time moves on and takes its undue toll.
Some of us are carried off with the tide,
Others remain stranded on the surf's shore.

"How lucky to be here!"  I often muse
For now I know a generation raised
Was never conceived to grow up at all.

Were I wise I should o' known
To steer a leery course;
And felt the tumult wind had blown
Its tempest of remorse.
But I was given to the sound
That echoed through my head
And tumbled in there, round and round,
The first sweet words she'd said.

She told me all the world was ours
Until our days may end;
Boundless love that never sours
Nor can the years amend.
She said she ever would be true
And by my side she'd stay
But now her words are scant and few ~
My love has went away.

So, as I drift into the night
And darkness takes its place
My hindsight wishes that I might
Have pondered  (just in case).
I should o' known, oh! were I wise,
With sense that could not see
Wisdom visits in disguise
But seldom visits me.

Ten summers have passed since I wandered there last
Though I've never forgotten the way.
Many times, I have thought that maybe I ought
Let tendency lead me astray.

When once I was young and springtime had sprung
And all of the day was sunlit.
It was then I was swayed by a maudlin charade
Much more than I care to admit.

How demons evoke when we met by the oak
Blaze whispered and purred in our ears;
I think of it yet, during evening's onset,
It has stayed with me down through the years.

Then time scurried by and so you and I
Were mislaid in a blizzard, so cold,
Where time is the thief of forbidden belief
And sombre remorses grow old.

Yet today I don't mind of the times when I find
Reflections bear all that remain.
I know that, alas, ten winters could pass
Before I may go there again.