Sorrow
By celticman
Thu, 02 Jul 2026
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1 comments
Whit went wrang wae auld age?
Forget the good years we accrue
Nor the bones of it
Punchdrunk minds not renewed
But that triple-lock of entitlement
That braying grievence —
Snow was whiter then
And the world should stay true
But no for the likes of you.
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Punchdrunk
No matter how we face up to the world it seems to leave us punchdrunk these days. It's only the people who weren't around then that will tell us that were wrong to say things were better then. And they were.
Turlough
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