Sometimes I think of our old flat 
where we lived in the city;
Wood floors, wood doors, and an antique stove,
peeling wallpaper and a deathtrap terrace;
But there we shared our first kiss
And ghosts from the past came for a visit.

Sometimes I think of our old park 
where we used to go
with old architecture,
the bright flowers arranged just so,
Funny I can't remember 
the way to get back
to our old park in the city.

I wish I'd complained less
and spent more time
enjoying young love
and living on our last dime the city.

Published by Draw Near