<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=565423" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>My Memories Of Childhood Are Fading</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My memories of childhood are fading as I grow older and more gray<br>Yet in my wild flights of fancy I get the sweet scent of hay<br>In the mown meadows of Summer in the far northern July<br>And upwards above the rank rushes the brown lark carols as he fly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm not what you would call a poet I only pen doggerel<br>Yet I can relate to my memories and I too have stories to tell<br>Of my childhood close to Nature in the fields and groves by the Town<br>Where the deciduous green leaves of Summer in late Autumn faded to brown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where male bullfinch the quiet sort of a fellow in his cloak of pink, black and slate blue<br>A beautiful bird of rare beauty to his wife till death he is true<br>At dawn at the edge of his borders his quiet though familiar song sing<br>The orchardists they do not like them they eat their fruit tree buds in the Spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In my childhood I grew to love Nature and like every other country boy<br>To me the voice of the cuckoo in late Spring was always a thing of great joy<br>But I grew to manhood too quickly and time for me too did not wait<br>And each day I live sees me closer and closer to my use by date.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I fancy I still hear the dipper his voice is not distant 'twould seem<br>On a black river rock in the shallows in the heart of the babbling stream<br>His snow white breast to me familiar his wings and his back darkish brown<br>And as he pipes forth his scratchy notes his head always bobs up and down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My memories of childhood are fading suppose nothing ever does last<br>And 'tis said we should live for tomorrow still we all remember the past<br>And still in my wild flights of fancy the robin sings on the hedgerow<br>And in the rank grass in the headland the shy pheasant out of sight crow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+Duggan">Francis Duggan</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=565423" data-title="My Memories Of Childhood Are Fading de Francis Duggan" data-description="My memories of childhood are fading as I grow older and more gray Yet in my wild flights of fancy I get the sweet scent of hay In the mown meadows of Summer in the far northern July And upwards above the rank rushes the brown lark carols as he fly..."></div> </div> </div>

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