There was a day,
when I wrote not a single thing,
it may have been yesterday –
or, if not yesterday,
it was a yesterday, once, long ago –
when I was younger,
and life seemed likely to stretch on for ever.
There was a day,
when I wrote not a single thing,
it may have been yesterday –
or, if not yesterday,
it was a yesterday, once, long ago –
when I was younger,
and life seemed likely to stretch on for ever.