I remember writing this on a sunny day, sitting on a bench on the Downs.

Slow down
Imagine life if time were far more gentle
If each and every day gave you the chance
To run and play, to sing and dance
And secret wishes were not just
The long lost aspirations
Of a dead imagination

Step back
Your world cannot withstand a close-up look
And taken as a whole you note the bad
But feel the soul and feel so sad
For ancient dreams and schemes were just
A mirage of protection
From the real and disaffectioned

Slow down
Imagine time if life were far more gentle
For each and every chance you had a day
To learn the dance, to love your way
And hopeful plans were more than just
The long-forgotten memory
Of a frail man nearing seventy

Rich Harding, 1988 (27th March)