A road travelled long ago,
A corner turned many years before,
I walked like I used to;
Careless and slow,
To stand in front of,
That scratchy little wooden door.

The roof had fallen off,
And the walls broken into,
As I stood and watched,
At Memories eaten in half,
By termite and time.

So I turned away to,
Walk around the same corner,
But there what I saw grew,
The roses I had planted then,
Rhapsodically beside the fence.