A small town bakery, That no one seems to remember but me, I sat there in ’96 with a Bakewell and a cuppa tea,
The world moved slower, At least that is how it seemed,
No phone, no wi fi, no place else I had to be,
Time didn’t wait, And it never does, But if I knew then what I do now, I’d have tried to find a way, Just to make it last somehow,
Some say it can’t be as good as I remember, That somehow it’s just a symbol, Of everything else behind a closed door, I guess they could be right, I’ll never know for sure,
But everything that’s gone does still matter,
All I once dreamed that never came to be, Still helped to shape the person I now call me.
©R. Spencer 2021
That's All Write 