Back in my Youth
There is movement at the station
For the train is pulling in
And our journey to the city
Will surely soon begin.
We had set off on our bicycles
To go and find the girls
With their faces O so pretty
And their hair so full of curls.
Dressed up in my new suit
I really felt the part
But what happened next
I am reluctant to impart.
An ‘old man�?Nor-wester
Was blowing through the gorge
And we were fairly hiking
When we passed old Uncle George
The road was made of shingle
And the grader had made a pass
Leaving a high wind-row
That was the downfall of my class.
The wicked wind sent me a sprawling
Into the mound of stone
And over handle bars I went
Tearing knees and shaking bones.
Now I was half way to Rakaia
And only one train to catch
So there was no going backwards
Just forward to the match.
Painfully I peddled
Across that mile long bridge
And now I am at the station
Feeling foolish just a midge
For one knee of my suit trousers
Is tattered and is torn
And I am headed for the girl-friend
Feeling very much forlorn.
Mark Thrice
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