Golden Days

From Nicholson’s shop to old Moore’s Bridge
I sometimes walk alone
Bitten again by cleg and midge
Near the Lagan Close to home.

The old Wee Race still hurries by
Still full of spricks and newts
As when I walked there, young and spry
In my well worn rubber Boots

In the river here, by that old wooden pier
In summer, we would swim
We were young and strong, with little fear
Our cup filled to the brim

We would rub our nettle stings with docks
And some of us would dare
To scamper across the wooden locks
Just to see what was over there

As I walk today, I need hardly say
It’s only in my mind
For now I’m growing old and grey
And I’ve left it all behind

There’s is sadness in my stories, true,
When my memories I explore
But that’s because I can’t renew
Those golden days of yore

By Dabbler (Joe Reid)