Thirty years has somehow passed,
And most of that indecent fast,
With pain, with joy,
But from first to last,
Little change, My Boy.

Retracing the steps, from the first time around,
But by myself, with time to spare,
To think, to dare
The memories abound.

The flagstones are the same unique, crack patterned lane,
Of a life.

Enough remains to bolster my mind,
But the pain is warm, of the welcoming kind,
For every place had its time,
And every time its place,
Even if now it’s diluted by knowledge and grace.

For though tempered by time,
Some thoughts burn as bright,
Tennis court by day,
Kiss by those roses, that night,
For wherever, whenever, my travels might be,
Still a part of me’s here,
A part of here’s me.