Monday, December 31, 2012

Change/Rebecca's Moon


When I was young, a million years ago,

The pace of change was very very slow.

Day followed day, unchanging,  I recall,

And nothing altered much, or not at all.

The telegram was heralded with delight

Or else a sense of shock, maybe of fright.

The telephone stood in its box of red

Waiting for words of import  to be said.

The car was something other people had,

Certainly not your average Mum and Dad.

And Sunday was a day of prayer and rest,

A day  of showing-off ones Sunday Best.

Day followed day and nothing ever seemed to change,

And that, of course, was really passing strange.

Because the undercurrent flowed inexorably

Toward a future that we could not see.

And now we've reached it, it is in clear view;

I am a modern person ; so are you.

And yet we are deceived.......we've not arrived!

Change is the only thing that has survived.

In sixty years you'll write a little verse

(Better than mine......or, maybe, even worse)

Describing the quaintness of your early years

And boring the pants off anyone who hears!


A tree, a moon and eyes that see

How beautiful a moon can be.

Just from an iPhone and just last night

And maybe not photographed quite right.

We looked, we saw and were enraptured

And here a little hint is captured.

Sometimes memory can impart

Real artistry to a work of art.

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