If I were to return to that farmhouse…
Where, through my first years, I grew up…
To stand looking out of my window…
O’er the valley’s misty morning cup…
Would I be me…or a stranger…
A person shaped by my sixty years…
By laughter, love, hard endeavour,
And sorrow’s grieving tears ?
.jpg)
(I am the baby in the top photo).
No comments:
Post a Comment