It hit me this evening:
the passage of time;
of things, events,
memories and people;
people just like you and I.

I remember the models:
Spitfires, Hurricanes;
clean and crisp
as Ford Cortinas;
fast as Saturn Vs.

The days before
they invented time,
when parents spoke
of Wartime songs
and incendiary bombs.

And as the evening lingers on
these images, voices,
turn to shadows, fading echoes;
reflections of a weary mind.

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