I sit and stare at the world outside
remembering when I used to ride
my bicycle up and down the lanes
waving to the passing trains.

Scrumping from the apple trees,
the sun on my face in the gentle breeze.
Running up the hill to school each day
then on Sundays go to church to pray
for all the good things in this life,
a home, children, a caring wife,
respect, love and happy times,
maybe travel to foreign climes.

Playing football on the village green.
What a good sportsman I had been,
I thought one day when I grew up
I'd play for England in the World Cup
or perhaps tennis would be my sport
I'd compete at Wimbledon, center court

A bright scholar, said my peers,
would do well in later years.
A fine career I'd have in store
maybe teaching, medicine or law.

The endless plans for future joy
I'd dream of when I was a boy
But, alas it is not to be
as life has not been kind to me.

All I can do now is sit and stare
through the window from my wheelchair.