The Kissing Gate
‘far from the madding crowds’ and cars
this green and pleasant land of ours
conceals behind its dry stone walls
secrets, streams and waterfalls
where stepping stones that gather moss
shine forth and tempt us both across
to distant fields of eighties’ skies
now clouded through autumnal eyes
where sheep still bleat as we both pass
along old paths of weathered grass
rekindling thoughts as each track weaves
of first love, hope and burning leaves
that once infused a simpler air
but linger still inside somewhere
to guide us on those wistful miles
through woods, past farms and over stiles
in search of where we sat and spent
time dreaming dreams of dreams we dreamt
over the hills and far away
inside a world called yesterday
and where we’d stay ‘til light turned late
in fields beyond the kissing gate
where now through smiles and gentle tears
reflecting on those forty years
it feels like time has flown so fast
since young love asked if love could last.
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