Remember the little things,
The little things that made me smile.
That touched my childish soul.
The song of sky larks on the hill,
Combined with smells of sun dried grass,
The smell of apples in a shed,
Mixing with gloomy half forgotten tools.
I remember the feel of rocks and stones,
The taste of salt from the north sea,
The taste of peat in Highland streams,
The sound of nothing but the wind.
All these small, little things they formed me.
All these tiny bits of life became my solace.
All these things now gone are where I started.
But they alas are here no more.
Man in his wisdom has decided,
To build new homes and businesses,
Where sky larks danced and sang for me.
No more the sound of silence since,
The roads ran through and planes flew,
And scents of apples now is gone,
Since grandma moved from where they grew.
The water now unfit to drink,
From trash dumped on the Highland moor,
And salt air now sinks more of oil,
From pleasure boats and tankers spills.
Would that I could return to when,
These things were real and had a power,
To capture me and make me whole,
But they are gone and I’m alone.
My soul, left like a dusty, old museum,
Filled with the life of yesterday,
Unwilling to embrace the noise,
Of modern life as it erodes my life,
Taking from me an apple’s smell,
A sky larks song, the taste of salt,
Taking from me the chance to show,
My niece the wonders which made up my soul.
I remember, but those memories,
Die with me.