When I am old, (older)
And you are grown, (more so)
I’ll remember the day we sat on cobbled step, (warm but crowded)
And ate sandwiches while killing time (how much time is left, I wonder?)
The man on the tightrope, (balancing)
Had a microphone and I thought, (musing)
That back in my day they didn’t have those,
And somehow street theatre was real
And the audience less harsh.
The bright sun lighter and the smell more ripe.
But I didn’t say it because, (rightly)
This is your now and all these things, (not tasted often enough)
Are the real for you (absolute).
The sparkling first time (dust unseen),
Of a Covent Garden step and sandwich (cheap but tasty),
With the world of opportunity exploding by your feet.
So we tossed a coin,
Traipsed past market stands, (expensive, alluring)
Hung hard and mesmerised over railings,
Listened to the string quartet.
And I indulged myself,
(There used to be… I said, and pointed at the long gone miniature dolls house shop)
Just a day. Killing time.
When I’m old(er) I’ll remember bringing you to my past haunts.
And when you are older (maybe), you’ll bring your girls. (And all our ghosts will walk together).