I place my old, wrinkly hands,
On my eyes,
For the world to stop,
curl like a thread,
And unwind to the days when,
people scuttled not ran.
When the wind traipsed, and stopped to say hello.
Houses chimed with jingling whiskey glasses,
And Muphy radios played Presley songs all day long.
Somewhere a stuck cassette left longings,
Somewhere, an eager unposted letter.
The streets smelled of warm apple pies,
And love meant sneaking a kiss at the porch.
The neighbourhood bled with ivies,
And the doors were always open,
Awaiting the warriors.
People talked about love with mix tapes and pale postcards,
And looked at strangers without lifting their eyes.
Spring used to come with the bluebells,
And summer dresses that stole men’s heart away.
Christmas meant sleepless nights,
Carnivals spuming golden stars,
Young love trickled down the Ferris wheel.
It was the year he looked at me,
From across the street,
And I left my heart in 1954.