When we were young it would be raining and we throwing stones at the telegraph poles unceasingly.
One horse would be standing against a wall, drenched by the rain, his skin slippery with the grey rain.
When we were young we would be playing football, with the moon in the sky like a football made of gold.
When we were young old women would be telling us, ‘Don’t do this, do that’ for fear of the owl.
When we were young the sky would be empty, and pictures in the book, and the earth green and distant.
When we were young, there would be lies, when we are old the lie is that youth was without stain.