I
.
g
r
e
w
.
up
.
i
n
.
a
.
time,
–
–
where
.
fast
.
f
o
o
d
.
bags
.
a
n
d
.
glass
.
bottles
.
w
o
u
l
d
.
carelessly
.
fly
.
f
r
o
m
.
cars
.
driving
.
by . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ I
.
g
r
e
w
.
up
.
i
n
.
a
.
time . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
I
.
g
r
e
w
.
up
.
i
n
.
a
.
time,
–
–
where
.
t
h
e
.
truth
.
t
o
l
d
.
lies,
.
a
n
d
.
even
.
goodness
–
–
sometimes
.
denied
.
a
n
d
.
closed
.
i
t
s
.
eyes
.
t
o
.
the
.
uglier
.
sides . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ I
.
g
r
e
w
.
up
.
i
n
.
a
.
time . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
So,
.
when
.
y
o
u
.
reflect
.
o
n
.
the
.
past,
.
.
a
n
d
.
.
tell
.
me
.
o
f
.
all
.
t
h
e
.
golden
.
times
.
i
t
.
had,
–
–
which
.
did
.
n
o
t
.
last . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
I
.
can
.
o
n
l
y
.
ponder
.
why,
.
.
y
o
u
.
.
would
.
want
.
t
o
.
believe
.
t
h
o
s
e
.
lies . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ I
can
.
o
n
l
y
.
ponder
.
why,
.
.
y
o
u
.
.
would
.
decide
.
t
o
.
die
.
b
y
.
living
.
a
.
p
a
s
t
.
life,
–
–
instead
.
o
f
.
living
.
i
n
.
the
.
light
.
o
f
.
the
.
present,
.
.
a
n
d
.
.
a
.
future
.
that
.
i
s
.
wide
.
a
n
d
.
high,
.
.
a
n
d
.
.
brighter
.
t
h
a
n
.
bright . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
I
.
can
.
o
n
l
y
.
ponder
.
why . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
I
.
can
.
o
n
l
y
.
ponder
.
why . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
I
.
can
.
o
n
l
y
.
ponder
.
why . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
f
o
r
.
.
.
I
.
g
r
e
w
.
up
.
i
n
.
a
.
time,
–
–
which
.
w
a
s
.
far
.
l
e
s
s
.
kind . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
.
.
.
I
.
g
r
e
w
.
up
.
i
n
.
a
.
time,
–
–
which
.
paid
.
t
o
o
.
little
.
mind.
Reflection: This was a reflective-themed poem that I wrote back in April of 2022 where the contemplator questions and is conflicted by the mindless commonplace reflections on the “good ole days.” I was playing the song “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)” by George Harrison and other 70s songs on my 1973-1975 playlist when the opening lines came to me. The poem pretty much wrote itself from there. So, if you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it. It only took me an hour or so to write it which is unusually fast when I write poetry.