It Was A Golden Age

A sickness at heart persists when
I review the ancient icons of my
past; the valleys where I grew into
a strapping youth, the subtle hues

of summer days, the greens and
blues, the shimmered haze of heat
and dust that settled slowly at the
feet of each time-traveller as they

passed within our universe. I knew
not much more than the pages of
the books I read, related with great
certainty to every nook and cranny

where I grew – knew my family dear
with sureness that eschewed a sibling
jealousy, a love with care ensued and
bloomed from there.

It was a golden age.
© 21 April 2007, I.D. Carswell