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In the springtime of my life

I started dreaming.

I dreamed of where I’d go

And what I’d do.

I dreamed of what I’d see

And what I’d build.

I dreamed of breaking free

-  And setting out –

Upon my chosen path.

As the years went by

I fell behind

The pattern of my dreams.

But still they spurred me on

And I dared to keep on dreaming.

Even then I knew

That all men must have dreams

-  For without them –

What is there to aim for.

Now in the autumn of my life

I dream again.

But these are different dreams:

Not dreams of the future

-  Plans to drive me on –

But jumbled, muddled dreams

Of the distant past.

Dreams of what I’d seen

And what I’d heard.

Dreams of where I’d walked

And what I’d done,

As, bit by bit, my troubled mind

Seeks to make some sense

-  Of all that’s gone before –

And made me who I am.


    The Ebbing Tide

Sitting on the river bank

Taking in this peaceful scene

Gazing out across the flat

Clear, waters of the estuary.

Looking north to rolling Suffolk.

Patchwork fields of green

Growing brighter in the sun

As spring grows daily stronger.

A dozen snow-white swans

Gliding east in line astern

Dwarf the wading birds

Grubbing at the water’s edge.

Boats out on the water

Swing gently with the tide

And point their bows upstream

To Flatford and to Dedham.

That tide is past its high –

And ebbing now it rushes

Eastward in a headlong race

To catch the open sea.

So it seems is my life:

Now well past the high

Ebbing too, it surely drains

Towards its certain end.

And just as these waters

Grew and gathered strength

As they flowed ever on

Towards the open sea

So it was with my life:

Building on the scenes I saw

And places that I went

That brought me to this spot

Where I can sit in peace

At one with this wide river

As - side by side - we drift

Towards our natural end