From Nicholson’s shop to old Moore’s Bridge I sometimes walk alone Bitten again by cleg and midge Near the Lagan Close to home. The old Wee Race still hurries by Still full of spricks and newts As when I walked there, young and spry In my well worn rubber Boots In the river here, by that old wooden pier In summer, we would swim We were young and strong, with little fear Our cup filled to the brim We would rub our nettle stings with docks And some of us would dare To scamper across the wooden locks Just to see what was over there As I walk today, I need hardly say It’s only in my mind For now I’m growing old and grey And I’ve left it all behind There’s is sadness in my stories, true, When my memories I explore But that’s because I can’t renew Those golden days of yore By Dabbler (Joe Reid) |