An echo of the half-known, returned to me
rambling, aimlessly
something from youth
from the fields
until the light froze
And I looked down from a tree
At me, fifty years ago,
as I drifted gloomily — 
seeking to change my mind 
by learning to love 
but there was little street traffic 
and I had no money for the shops.
I took the memory in hand and read it again.
Nothing lasts long, does it?
Something always turns up
To change the course of life: 
fate, chance, death, an ill-look
The beautiful part of life is brief.
But how clear the images remain
A girl in a party dress
kissing the taste of sweet cider
what a delight it was to be young.