BYGONE DAYS
I often think of bygone days
Back in the forties dear,
When we walked Dronfield’s leafy lanes
Without a trace of fear.
Sitting by a babbling brook
On a balmy summer night,
Then slowly walking home again
Beneath the pale moonlight.
Those were happy days my dear
Sadly buried in the past,
Now we are in our autumn years
And winter cometh fast.
By
Alfred Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2003
I often think of bygone days
Back in the forties dear,
When we walked Dronfield’s leafy lanes
Without a trace of fear.
Sitting by a babbling brook
On a balmy summer night,
Then slowly walking home again
Beneath the pale moonlight.
Those were happy days my dear
Sadly buried in the past,
Now we are in our autumn years
And winter cometh fast.
By
Alfred Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2003
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