The CRYPT Mag

Olden Days and Olden Ways

by Baz Cann

I'm mindful of a golden sun upon a summer's day, When life's pace was much slower, in a quiet sort of way, The summers were real summers, and winters were just so too, Is this just my bad memory, or do you remember too?

When it was deemed as safe and sound to play out in the street, Not to run off a-screaming at each person that you'd meet, The milko with his horse and cart, filling the housewife's jug, And old steam trains that ran on time, with crews that looked right smug!

No more old-fashioned courtesy, for that's gone by the by, And sweets sold by the quarter from glass jars to catch your eye, Remember also the cobbler, fixing shoes for one and six, And penny bars of toffee, to get your teeth in a fix!

Now everything's so different, indifference abounds, Graffiti on a brand new wall declares "these are our grounds". No comfort is there anywhere, designs are stark and cold, One wonders, "could it get much worse, when they get flipping old?"

I think I was born far too late, and way out of my time, The crazy rush for time and space has no reason or rhyme, The present crazy madness could drive us all insane, Oh, how I wish that I could be back to those days again!