These Paths and Lanes

These paths and lanes I've walked along
So many times before.
They've barely changed throughout the years;
Still steeped in days of yore.
Old memories cry out to me,
And tales of family lore.

The cottage where my parents lived
Lies empty, looking sad.
I smile as I recall once more
The happy times we had.
But that was oh so long ago,
When I was just a lad.

St Martin's church, with steeple tall,
Stands proudly on the hill.
My uncle Joe once rang those bells,
And they are ringing still.
Old Joe's long gone; he's buried there,
Along with auntie Jill.

The farmland, stretching out for miles,
Has hardly changed at all.
The cattle grazing in the fields
Are just as I recall.
Same trees — the ones I used to climb —
Still stand there, by the wall.

I turn, then walk back to my car,
Parked down beside the green.
I think about the friends I had,
Now gone, or never seen.
A two-hour drive and I'll be home.
She'll ask, "Where have you been?"

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Copyright © Robert Haigh 2017