In wild, wild moments there’s the rush of wind
Upon my face, streaming out strands of hair
As I run down hills of mind on lissom legs,
Twigs snapping under my feet while I remain
Childlike and playful, blissful and unaware.
But all this in my mind because
I cannot do this barefoot running anymore.
Can’t run at all.  Those days of mad abandon gone.
But I can still walk slowly on the nice neat paths
Among the bluebells and my heart can still
Skip, dance and jump for joy and sing its song