In a pile of old papers
Just tossed aside
Not even considered
Bereft now, of any pride.

Bought, after the war
Cut price at threepence
Words to one-hundred songs
Lost to its world of credence.

Some remembered song of yesterday
Nostalgic to thoughts, so long – faraway
A world where we sang for fun
Truly encompassing, everyone.

Family would gather round
Piano would make the accompanying sound
Melodic harmonies, strained to reach
All the better, voices beseech.

Song were just part of life
They almost became, our toys
“Fire, fire – fire down below …
So fetch a pale of water – boys.

Old King Cole, was a merry old soul
Gracie Field’s, could bring a sob
‘Now is the hour’, or,
‘The girl who made the thingamabob’.

I could close my eyes in wonder
At the things – then done and seen
Those hills of Tipperary
And the forty shades of green.

Sally in her Alley
With the hole in her stocking…
We could all understand
We all knew the Alexander Ragtime band.

Each old yellow page
Inside my old blue book
Still make me remember
An ember of a forgotten age.

Mike