“Forty years from now, there wont be a word about us”
~ John Carty (dad)
It is but three hours from now
Though few wrinkles adorn the brow
The silver hair gives it away
That middle age has come to stay.
No more a youth though in the mind
That I think the same I think I find
As I climb yet another of lifes ladders rung
Who who thinks as so he still is young.
Lots has gone in this past for decades
The Soviet Unions May Day parades
Two Germanys have become one
Yugoslavia through wars now gone.
The conflict in our isle looked like it would never cease
The North knows now an uneasy peace
The house on which my parents toiled
Is sold and for sale: destroyed and spoiled.
The work of a common handyman
Not good enough: the fashion began
So all for new was ripped asunder
Destruction the only work achieved: like pirates plunder.
The flowers my mother tended as I was a child
Fight with the weeds who together grow wild
No more wed by me on hot summers day
Both parents pushing up daisies beneath the clay.
I, at forty, so bereaved
Look back on ambitions broken, more achieved
Rouse from my musings with a heavy heart
Hope theres truth in the saying forty is lifes start.
As much more time to go and maybe less
– It startles me, I must confess!!! –
I too will be gone for all lifes fuss:
Forty years from now there wont be a word about us!