Would you like to be a 'Time' Traveller? A poem I have written recalls previous eras.
Our memory: confusing tool…
can often tease, and sometimes fool –
casting back in history’s fog,
like fishing in a treacherous bog –
it lands uncertain fish...
Invisible to all of human form,
I fly with ease: traverse the centuries new and old,
and blessed/cursed with this magic gift
am filled with awe at all that I behold.
So, Romfordonians, let me tell
just how it was; what fate befell
the poor and needy in long-gone days:
of their bitter taste of hell.
The butchers’ ‘Shambles’ welcomed flies,
their aired and salted meat too high.
The needy bought the cheapest cuts – they had no choice,
succumbed to illness – they had no voice.
But oh! The hurdy-gurdy man!
Excitement in the market place and
all around the stalls, now obsolete
of tallow chandlers, dealers selling metal toys, corn and seed.
But in ‘Brazier’s Yard ‘ – I see it with my aged eyes –
a child is dying, no-one is surprised…
for cholera has left its calling card again,
attacks the helpless, spares no pain.
I look down on this long-gone world
and see again the new;
with all its faults it beckons me –
I no longer feel the need to roam…
I sigh and smile and smile again,
for I am going home!