Autumnal song

Autumnal Song
Memories are not crystal clear they are like
a broken mirror upon which the sun sometimes
shines, residue of the imagined what ensued
or will happens are of equal interest and as time
does not move only things within does
the past and future is the same, yet it pains me
I shall not see my savannah again and I have
no pictures to prove it existed and the field of
the tall grass. I see no giraffes or wildebeest
I have sold my motorbike can no longer pretend
to be a great adventurer,
but what I do remember through the haze of none
events were my private happiness, perhaps that
to was an illusion a vision of human disappointment
to try but never succeed.