Same Title Challenge

[impressive]

imp,

I like the "coarse intercourse" play, and it does bring to mind the opening of the Declaration of Independence pretty clearly. However, it sets a tone (not humorous, exactly, but witty; detached and ironic, perhaps? words elude me) that doesn't quite match the rest of the poem, particularly the middle bits (there go those words again, running circles around me!). The end seems a little too abstract and vague. I don't really get a sense of what "simpler days" means, within the context of the poem. "Dawn rain" helps, a sort of cleansing, new beginning metaphor, but could do with a bit more fleshing out. Best phrase: "absolute tyranny of expectations" That is excellent! Though, line breaks after prepositions? It's debatable. I've done it numerous times, but have read some very convincing arguments recently that have led me to question whether that's ever the best place (or even a good place) to break a line.

Anyway, just some thoughts, unorganized, ungainly, and for the most part unfiltered, so you know, there's likely a higher level of carcinogens and other polluting by-products.

Thanks for the feedback. I agree re the "of" and will fix. Really hadn't noticed until you pointed it out. "Detatched and ironic" fits -- at least until the last stanza's epiphany (which I need, I guess, to strengthen).

~ Imp

 

[sandj]

Simpler days

quartets swayed
thrumming blends
of beguiled rhythm
and tap-danced
with throbbing
footfalls in neon
doorways by
dark, closed shops

saxophones wailed
on street corners
burning debris
from pavement
through blazed notes,
spiraling tire screeches
to yearning sweeps
and elegant bows

the moon laughed
with maple trees,
mountain retreat,
autumn leaves,
coating brown,
faded-green grass,
overwhelmed by
kisses of cold

sour cream pancakes
simmered languid
on an old woodstove
fire, her husband
Quebec, her lover
and I a simple
bystander
touched by all this

echoes,

Not sure what to say about this, except that I really like it. Strong images with a wistful tone. The first stanza, particularly, blends the images and the rhythm very well. Not really sure what "the moon laughed" means, though, or what the connection is between the first half of the poem and the second half. You start with an urban setting, focusing on sound, and then shift to more rural images related to sight, touch (feeling the cold?), and smell (the old woodstove fire?). It seems that something in the first half has triggered in the speaker the memory related in the second half, but the connection is a little vague. Also, the punctuation in the last stanza leaves me confused. Is Quebec the husband ("her husband Quebec") or the lover ("Quebec, her lover"). And for that matter, who is "her?" Seems to be a grandmotherly figure but "she" does not appear in the poem at all. Is that intentional? The poem has been devoid of human subject (though there is a human presence in the description of music and pavement), and all of a sudden "her husband" shows up with no idea of how he got there (that makes it sound like some sort of dementia, which isn't quite what I meant, but nevermind).

These aren't flaws, mind you, just questions I had. I really connected with this poem, so I'm trying to figure it out. Not that the poem should answer all questions, reveal itself entirely; not at all. A poem should absolutely leave question behind, unanswered, otherwise where's the joy in reading it? And despite my dissociated ramblings in the preceeding paragraph, I did enjoy this poem. I'd better stop now, before things gets worse.

 

[impressive]

Simpler days

quartets swayed
thrumming blends
of beguiled rhythm
and tap-danced
with throbbing
footfalls in neon
doorways by
dark, closed shops

saxophones wailed
on street corners
burning debris
from pavement
through blazed notes,
spiraling tire screeches
to yearning sweeps
and elegant bows

the moon laughed
with maple trees,
mountain retreat,
autumn leaves,
coating brown,
faded-green grass,
overwhelmed by
kisses of cold

sour cream pancakes
simmered languid
on an old woodstove
fire, her husband
Quebec, her lover
and I a simple
bystander
touched by all this

My 2 cents, FWIW:

I enjoyed the seasonal cadence of this. I think it could be enhanced by more judicious use of punctuation (e.g., "and I, a simple bystander,"). I seemed to trip over "tap-danced with throbbing footfalls" -- but perhaps you were going for discord. Love the "sour cream pancakes simmered lanquid on an old woodstove fire"

~ Imp

 

[impressive]

Simpler Days

If calendar pages would only quit
their restless bird flight to my oblivion,
I’d hold an infant in my arms again,
no need for imagination to reconstruct
how warm a little face feels
nudged against my skin.

No one would walk away
to independence,
not even me.

If clocks would just untick
the toiling metronome of my age,
I’d never flee to opportune the last
capture of my youth,
no need to discover
how warm my face feels
held lightly in the palms of joy.

I’d stay put, having turned the wheels
back far enough to fill their spokes
with Beatle cards and whistle
my bike down Hamilton Avenue,
left on D’Arcy and again to Hobart,
where simpler days parked
next door to Mrs. Kurtz’s daffodils,
against the brick wall of 528,
and a green bench with a rose trellis
that once whispered
Home.

Simpler-ly lovely. I adore the last stanza.

Two small things: Consider "stop" instead of "quit" (but that's just me); and possibly a small punctuation change as follows:

I’d hold an infant in my arms again;
no need for imagination to reconstruct

(or period with capital 'No') ... and similarly for the 3rd stanza.

~ Imp

 

[impressive]

Simpler Days?

I find it hard to look fondly back
to a nostalgic past. Those days
of zits and braces still howl
through today, fresh
like they were there just yesterday
and the orthodontist reassuring
me about my smile.

The blood and tears of lost
innocence rinsed away, simply
in a pinkened rivulet
across the cold porcelain of the tub.

Like that time in school, when I
didn't know maturity and menses
lay in wait just at the beginning
of science class.
Glad it was the lady
substitute rather than doddering
Mister J. teaching physics
that day.

So, forgive me if I hesitate
to call them simpler days.
The complicated processes
of growing up
haven't gotten any simpler
with the silicon chip
and a cellular phone.

I like the anti-nostalgia theme. IMO, the last 5 lines are disconnected from the rest. While a cogent observation, I think they detract from the me-ness of the earlier parts and convey a them-ness that seems out of place. (Am I making any sense?)

Oh, and consider "with the orthodontist" in lieu of "and the orthodontist"

Nice work.

~ Imp

 

[impressive]

Simpler Days

I have seen enough the blur of days
to know time as gravity sideways.
We plummet horizontal, whizzed toward
tombs like safes to sidewalks. I looked
behind and there they were, flat.

They passed in a rush, the long gone
men of docks and slaughterhouses. I
saw them shiver in tattered coats
and rag-wrapped hands, smoke curling
from coffee and Camels as they firmed
for work. I watched their shoulders shrug
in silence, their eyes betray indifference.
With backs straight and proud they were
propelled to graves. So I have seen

winter’s fast teeth, the grip hoist our lives
on ropes as from dark holds of ships
and hook in chilly lockers on chains
the meat of blossomed pastures. How quick
we hang undone. This arrogance of wires

I have witnessed, how too it conjures faces
and steals love, how it traps tender sound
in copper and spits white breath of frozen
codes typed by numb strangers, icing
those chords that move us to sing. Stone,

speed me in to join the memories I envy,
to slow courage to a visible pace, to rosin
bows and unwrinkle the beauty I remember.
I need another voice, just one, one blessed
brush across my cheek, one holding hand
assuring me that time will stop and share
those gifts if I no longer blink my eyes.

You could've written complete gobbledy gook after "time as gravity sideways" and I wouldn't have noticed 'cause I was so blown away by that image ... and then I get to the end of the journey and have the wind knocked out of me with "time will stop and share those gifts if I no longer blink me eyes." Wow.

~ Imp

 

[impressive]

she's got email and voice mail
so far she can't tell
either helps her with the boys

she longs for a simple time
life with rhythm and rhyme
he was her life and her joy

three years since he past
is she ready at last
her hunger scares her so

she can't love a stranger
theres always the danger
he'll take what he wants and go

on the brink of giving in
going back in time again
his voice, his scent, his ways

thirty good years
now heartache and tears
missing the simpler days

Opting for this of your two offerings. If I've time, I'll go back and catch the other.

I felt this deeply, and I'd probably vote it a 5 without any changes -- but there are 3 things I feel would strengthen it.

First, past > passed (as I assume you're speaking of death).

Little nit picky thing of mine: the use of "has got" just gets on my grammatic nerve. Please consider "she has email ..." for your opening line.

theres > there's

Thanks.

~ Imp

 

[impressive]

Simpler Days

When self seeded grasses grew tall and wide, and
seed floating fairies bounced on the breeze;
When athletic green mantis preyed at dawn, and
mumble bees hovered near lavender spikes;
When butterflies trembled around full blown flowers, and
lady bugs landed modelling bright coloured cloaks;
When sparrows bathed, etching dust-filled whirlpools, and
a young girl sat on the grass in the shade,
making daisy chain necklaces for sister in jade;
When time traversed slow and occupations lacked vigour,
life’s Simpler Days flaunted a rose laden vista.

Very nice! It's probably just me, but I would enjoy this more with it broken into couplets (if that's the correct term) instead of one large block.

My tongue only tripped over one line (lady bugs) ... and I think it was the word "modelling" that did it, although I'm not sure.

Thanks.

~ Imp

 

[impressive]

Simpler Days

Boys chasing girls, kickball games in the gym,
Kool-aid and summers spent learning to swim.
Long August nights lit by green fireflies,
The wind in my hair and the stars in my eyes.

Those were simpler days.​

When all of my crushes were felt from afar,
And my wishes came true when I wished on a star.
Prom night, graduation and yearbook goodbyes,
A twenty-first birthday, best friends who were guys.

Those were simpler days.​

When Fridays would end at the dark corner bar,
Cold beer was a salve that could heal any scar.
Pour me straight up tequila with plenty of lime,
And I’d have sex any way, anywhere, anytime.

Those were simpler days.​

A nap in the morning and toys on the floor,
Afternoons in the sandbox and supper at four.
Milky sweet breath and ten pudgy fingers,
The scent of the baby-soft lotion that lingers.

These are simpler days.
Yes, these are simpler days.​

Not sure I agree with you on the last stanza, but it's a very enjoyable poem.

Consider a comma after "graduation" (but that's just me ... I'm partial to the Oxford comma).

I love "And I'd have sex any way, anywhere, anytime." *grin*

Thanks.

~ Imp

(I'm getting lazy. These "reviews" are wearing me out.)

 

[impressive]

Here is my pathetic offering, and I want to apologize. I just could not get my mind around it.

Simpler Days

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
it wasn't simpler being young
though to some its so, I guess

a child lost in a crowded house
found it safest being a little mouse
and then cleaning up the mess.

a teen with all the angst inside
who went along just for the ride
not caring what was best

an adult with a child to raise
no child support and little praise
yet she rose above the rest

I'm older now and looking back
at how I once took up the slack
and always rode the crest

the house is empty 'cept for me
most bills are paid; my time is free
with too much time to rest!

Ahead of me, I hope
are simpler days.​

Mea culpa, Mea culpa, Mea maxima culpa

I like the feelings it conveys, Boo.

I see what you mean about the first line! In my mind, I faintly "heard" a first line something like: "In spite of ... ... ... ... were sung" but it danced just out of reach. (Helpful, ain't I?)

Consider taking the ending stanzas from first person POV to third:

She's older now and looking back
at how she once took up the slack
and always rode the crest​

etc. Just a thought.

~ Imp

 

[sandj]

Simpler Days

If calendar pages would only quit
their restless bird flight to my oblivion,
I’d hold an infant in my arms again,
no need for imagination to reconstruct
how warm a little face feels
nudged against my skin.

No one would walk away
to independence,
not even me.

If clocks would just untick
the toiling metronome of my age,
I’d never flee to opportune the last
capture of my youth,
no need to discover
how warm my face feels
held lightly in the palms of joy.

I’d stay put, having turned the wheels
back far enough to fill their spokes
with Beatle cards and whistle
my bike down Hamilton Avenue,
left on D’Arcy and again to Hobart,
where simpler days parked
next door to Mrs. Kurtz’s daffodils,
against the brick wall of 528,
and a green bench with a rose trellis
that once whispered
Home.

Ange,

You always impress me with your ability to conjure a mood that seems specific to the subject yet general enough that everyone can recognize because they must have felt it before. This poem does that for me. I have no idea who Mrs. Kurtz is, and I'm not sure I ever saw a rose trellis as a child, except maybe on tv, but I instantly recognize that whispered "Home." A sense of place, of belonging to a place, very strong. I am skeptical about the impulse to relive the past (more on that later, I'm sure), but there's no doubt that this poem evokes that sense of longing for that kind of connection.

The only place that I can really point to as needing revision would be the line "their restless bird flight to my oblivion." Not sure this works for me. Restless is ok, but "bird flight" brings to mind migration, which doesn't really describe the flight of calendar pages because days cannot return. Simply "flight" might be better; then again, maybe not. And "my oblivion" strikes me as a little lacking. "My" makes it very personal, but then there is no attempt to define it, so the readers are left to supply the image and the meaning for what is not theirs.

As always, take what is helpful and ignore the rest. I am but one humble reader.

 

[impressive]

had a little time to work on this...not sure if complete .liked your Idea....bluerain
*


Cobwebs swept from
sepia tinged snapshots
wrapped in yesterdays hues.

Flashbacks rethread
each simple day,
while maintaining the
insanity of a now complicated
world infused with mindless
distractions.

Memory carved out pieces of you
and me and passions of the heart
now only traced vapor trails and
wall papered mind moods
in watercolored transfusions.

For a moment ,I sigh floating
on clouds of vanilla skies
musing each singular season.

Drifting along intersections
cavorting upon time’s impermanence ,
an array of simple memories
take root in currents of today.

I like "wall papered mind moods"

My recommendation is to stick to one verb tense throughout (e.g., "Memory carving ...")

Nit picky stuff: yesterday's (possessive), sepia-tinged (hyphenated)

I think "root" is at odds with drifting & cavorting & currents. Consider "wing" instead.

~ Imp

 

[impressive]

Wow... you all wrote so much. I saw the topic a week or so ago, and as my innocent and quickly dissapearing youth and my newfound responsibilities are an ever present thought in my head I bashed out this little haiku. Hope you like it. BTW, wasn't this meant to be posted last Sunday (6th)?

Simpler Days (A Haiku).

When I was Younger,
Never did I miss sunset,
Wake now at sunrise.

I'm no expert on haiku ... or any other form, for that matter ... but this is quite nice. I only question the capitalization of "Younger"

~ Imp

There -- I think I've commented on all the poems. If I missed one, lemme know. (I need a nap now.)

 

[sandj]

Simpler Days?

I find it hard to look fondly back
to a nostalgic past. Those days
of zits and braces still howl
through today, fresh
like they were there just yesterday
and the orthodontist reassuring
me about my smile.

The blood and tears of lost
innocence rinsed away, simply
in a pinkened rivulet
across the cold porcelain of the tub.

Like that time in school, when I
didn't know maturity and menses
lay in wait just at the beginning
of science class.
Glad it was the lady
substitute rather than doddering
Mister J. teaching physics
that day.

So, forgive me if I hesitate
to call them simpler days.
The complicated processes
of growing up
haven't gotten any simpler
with the silicon chip
and a cellular phone.

champagne,

So, forgive me if I hesitate
to call them simpler days.

Absolutely! Couldn't have said it better myself (in fact, I proved that in my entry). My own past was also one where I felt out of place and awkward, and those memories do "howl;" that's just the right word. If not drowning out the happy memories, they at least howl loudly enough to make me glad that it's over. I still feel awkward and out of place, but I'm better equipped now to deal with it.

The diction and syntax seem to reflect the idea of unromanticized (deromanticized?) youth, with a very straightforward, prose quality for the most part. I might have written "look back fondly," taken out "through today" (seems sufficient that they "still howl"), and added another comma after "simply" (to set it off from the next phrase), but the language really fits the theme. I agree with impressive's comment about the them-ness of the closing lines, and " the silicon chip and a cellular phone" doesn't seem to add much to the poem. Might be simplest to end the poem after "simpler days."

Good work.

 

[echoes_s]

You could've written complete gobbledy gook after "time as gravity sideways" and I wouldn't have noticed 'cause I was so blown away by that image ... and then I get to the end of the journey and have the wind knocked out of me with "time will stop and share those gifts if I no longer blink me eyes." Wow.

~ Imp

Yes, Pat's poem completely blew me away, to know time as gravity sideways
was a heart stopper for me also and I haven't gotten over this yet as I keep rereading his poem.

Yes Pat, it is all your fault I stopped here

I'll be back in a bit

 

[Angeline]

Ok, here I go

Imp, you did yeoman's work on reviews. Impressive is a good name for you.

Thank you so much for the thought you put into reviewing my poem. I think it needs some work, but I'm going to let it rest for a while. It's a first draft. I see your point about "bird flight," but I don't think flight is enough; I want a stronger visual there. I don't want to expand on oblivion. To, me it's enough of a suggestion of ending--I'd rather let the reader decide what kind. Mrs. Kurtz was our next-door neighbor, a sweet old soul, and my dad built the trellis over the bench and planted climbing roses on it. I spent a lot of time reading there--my favorite place (well after the lilac bushes lol). I think an impulse to return is legitimate--who doesn't yearn for moments of past sometimes?

I've written so many poems about the bench and that house and the years we lived there. I think the reason I don't want to expand too much is that I think of those poems together (chapbook dreams) and don't want to be too repetative across them.

Now your poem.

SIMPLER DAYS

In the coarse intercourse of human events
I became unrecognizable
to the wild child –
my sexy savage. wild child and sexy savage seem redundant; I was expecting more of a comparison, unrecognizable from innocence to experience

The purity of impurity
burned from my being
for light and transient causes
masquerading as wisdom.

I stepped willingly,
eagerly,
into a parched landscape
dotted with the absolute tyranny of
expectations – places
unusual, uncomfortable, and distant.

Decades of patient sufferance
slowly consumed my self maybe "me" instead of "my self"
leaving only a charred crust; "charred" jars me here, but maybe it's me. Also, a comma seems better to me here than a semicolon
crumbling and unstable.

I declare my independence,
now and forever.
I shed this shell
to once again drench my soul
in the dawn rain of simpler days. I love this line

 

[impressive]

Thank you so much for the thought you put into reviewing my poem. I think it needs some work, but I'm going to let it rest for a while. It's a first draft. I see your point about "bird flight," but I don't think flight is enough; I want a stronger visual there. I don't want to expand on oblivion. To, me it's enough of a suggestion of ending--I'd rather let the reader decide what kind. Mrs. Kurtz was our next-door neighbor, a sweet old soul, and my dad built the trellis over the bench and planted climbing roses on it. I spent a lot of time reading there--my favorite place (well after the lilac bushes lol). I think an impulse to return is legitimate--who doesn't yearn for moments of past sometimes?

I've written so many poems about the bench and that house and the years we lived there. I think the reason I don't want to expand too much is that I think of those poems together (chapbook dreams) and don't want to be too repetative across them.

Thanks, Ange ... but the above comments don't relate to my review. (Just wanted to make sure the right reviewer gets credit.)

Appreciate your comments on mine. It's going to be a much stronger (illustrated) poem as a result of this thread.

~ Imp

 

[Angeline]

Thanks, Ange ... but the above comments don't relate to my review. (Just wanted to make sure the right reviewer gets credit.)

Appreciate your comments on mine. It's going to be a much stronger (illustrated) poem as a result of this thread.

~ Imp

Sorry. it was the first one I saw and thought was yours. I'll get to it.

And I think it's very cool that you're illustrating it.

 

[Angeline]

Ange,

You always impress me with your ability to conjure a mood that seems specific to the subject yet general enough that everyone can recognize because they must have felt it before. This poem does that for me. I have no idea who Mrs. Kurtz is, and I'm not sure I ever saw a rose trellis as a child, except maybe on tv, but I instantly recognize that whispered "Home." A sense of place, of belonging to a place, very strong. I am skeptical about the impulse to relive the past (more on that later, I'm sure), but there's no doubt that this poem evokes that sense of longing for that kind of connection.

The only place that I can really point to as needing revision would be the line "their restless bird flight to my oblivion." Not sure this works for me. Restless is ok, but "bird flight" brings to mind migration, which doesn't really describe the flight of calendar pages because days cannot return. Simply "flight" might be better; then again, maybe not. And "my oblivion" strikes me as a little lacking. "My" makes it very personal, but then there is no attempt to define it, so the readers are left to supply the image and the meaning for what is not theirs.

As always, take what is helpful and ignore the rest. I am but one humble reader.

Well duh, it was your comment. lol.

I saw a whole line of them by Impressive and just breezed on by. Would it help if I told you I was also cooking dinner at the time?

 

[Angeline]

Simpler days

quartets swayed
thrumming blends
of beguiled rhythm
and tap-danced
with throbbing
footfalls in neon
doorways by
dark, closed shops

saxophones wailed
on street corners comma?
burning debris
from pavement
through blazed notes,
spiraling tire screeches
to yearning sweeps
and elegant bows

the moon laughed
with maple trees,
mountain retreat,
autumn leaves, and no comma here, imo
coating brown,
faded-green grass,
overwhelmed by
kisses of cold I like cold kisses; kisses of cold sounds overly formal to me

sour cream pancakes
simmered languid
on an old woodstove
fire, her husband
Quebec, her lover
and I a simple
bystander
touched by all this

This is gorgeous. That's all.

 

[Angeline]

Simpler Days?

I find it hard to look fondly back
to a nostalgic past. Those days
of zits and braces still howl
through today, fresh
like they were there just yesterday
and the orthodontist reassuring
me about my smile.

The blood and tears of lost
innocence rinsed away, simply
in a pinkened rivulet
across the cold porcelain of the tub. this sorta grosses me out, but it's really good lol

Like that time in school, when I I'd get rid of the comma here; you could move it to after menses, but I don't know that you need to--it works either way
didn't know maturity and menses
lay in wait just at the beginning
of science class.
Glad it was the lady
substitute rather than doddering
Mister J. teaching physics
that day.

So, forgive me if I hesitate and I'd lose the comma after so; it flows better without it
to call them simpler days.
The complicated processes
of growing up
haven't gotten any simpler
with the silicon chip
and a cellular phone. maybe "or a cellular phone"

I read this three times. I really like it, love the tone. It's down to earth, conversational almost, with just the right hint of irony. It sounds natural to me.

 

[Angeline]

Simpler Days

I have seen enough the blur of days
to know time as gravity sideways. I've mainly known time as gravity downwards, but it's still a great line
We plummet horizontal, whizzed toward
tombs like safes to sidewalks. I looked see? I said oblivion, you said tombs, and I love "safes to sidewalks" though I see Acme on the side of the safe
behind and there they were, flat.

They passed in a rush, the long gone
men of docks and slaughterhouses. I
saw them shiver in tattered coats
and rag-wrapped hands, smoke curling
from coffee and Camels as they firmed
for work. I watched their shoulders shrug
in silence, their eyes betray indifference.
With backs straight and proud they were
propelled to graves. So I have seen

winter’s fast teeth, the grip hoist our lives
on ropes as from dark holds of ships
and hook in chilly lockers on chains
the meat of blossomed pastures. I don't like "blossomed' because you really mean cows, not plants. Cows don't blossom. Don't argue.
How quick we hang undone. This arrogance of wires

I have witnessed, how too it conjures faces
and steals love, how it traps tender sound
in copper and spits white breath of frozen
codes typed by numb strangers, icing
those chords that move us to sing. Stone,

speed me in to join the memories I envy,
to slow courage to a visible pace, to rosin
bows and unwrinkle the beauty I remember. this would be better if you had a verb that fit musically with "rosin bows," something that means "awaken" I think
I need another voice, just one, one blessed I think you're losing impact on the second "one" by leaving "one blessed" on this line
brush across my cheek, one holding hand
assuring me that time will stop and share
those gifts if I no longer blink my eyes.maybe you don't need "my eyes" because what else do you blink?

It's a great poem Patrick, but if you don't change "blossomed" I'll ask Eve not to bitch slap you.

 

[impressive]

It's a great poem Patrick, but if you don't change "blossomed" I'll ask Eve not to bitch slap you.

I like "blossomed"

 

[Angeline]

I like "blossomed"

Well, that's the thing about reading poetry. Everyone responds to a poem somewhat differently. I almost always get conflicting comments on mine.

He never listens to me anyway.

 

[Angeline]

sandspike

Both your poems are good, but I prefer this one (might be reading about pickled eggs in the other, lol).

The objectivity of the narrator's voice and the heartbreaking content creates a very subtle tension that works beautifully. It's moving.

I'd shift the lines around a bit, punctuate it, and edit very lightly. For me that would make it stronger, but that's just one opinion.

This is one way you might do it.

She's got email and voice mail.
So far she can't tell; either
helps her with the boys.

She longs for a simple time,
a life with rhythm and rhyme
as when he was her life, her joy.

Three years since he passed,
is she ready at last?
Her hunger scares her so

she can't love a stranger.
Theres always the danger
he'll take what he wants and go.

On the brink of giving in
she goes back again
to his voice, his scent, his ways.

Thirty good years,
now heartache and tears--
missing the simpler days