We sing praises of days when young.
Celebrating our good simple fun,
Slow old days of childhood play,
Now time passes, gallops away,
In lockdown, rat race did stall,
Barely any wars at all,
Troubles can happen to some,
Toils are made to be overcome.
These may well be our good old days,
Till we’re all footnotes in time’s misty haze.
Baby Boomer Scribblings. 