An old thought tapped on my shoulder,
And asked, "Do you remember me?
"I'm the thought that once lingered a while,
"Before you discarded me."
I tried to shrug the thought away,
But that old thought was determined,
He danced round my head, his jig and reel,
And mocked me with his sermon.
His words were full of 'Told you so's',
And 'Bet you wish now, you'd listened!',
And I must admit they were getting to me,
As my mind became reminiscent,
It spun through the years to former times,
Back to the days of my youth,
Back to the carefree cloudless skies,
When I spent long summers with you.
Back then a notion filled my heart,
That the pact we made was preserved,
That nothing would ever break the bond,
And that we'd sanctified our word.
But alas, those summers had to end,
I remember that dark Autumnal day,
The rain fell cold and the wind blew hard,
And career prospects took me away.
For years my spirit longed to fly,
Back where my heart yearned to be,
Until I found my own career,
And you faded with the memories.
And then one day my career did take me,
Along a route that passed our town,
And that old thought, he beckoned to me,
To harden to his words, put down.
He said, "Now you have the chance to do",
"What you wanted to, so long ago.
"Go tell her heart how your heart feels...
"A small detour to let her know!"
I shook my head in negative,
"She's probably made her life," said I.
"Move your ass!" that thought, he said,
"Or you'll never know till the day you die!".
I pondered hard on the dilemma,
But took cold feet at the turn-off,
And that old thought said, "You fool, turn back,"
"Or you'll never know the whereof!
"She waits for you," that thought went on,
"For she's determined by the pact!"
But I let my cowardice win the day,
And I never once looked back.
Now as I stand here looking down,
Upon the note held in my hand,
That old thought mocks my misery,
As I fail to understand,
That why, until her dying days,
Did she fail to get in touch?
Yet I think I know the answer is,
Tied up in her old thoughts!
Old ThoughtsJust reminiscing.
By Harry Boslem