SING TO ME OF HAPPIER TIMES

Sing to me of happier times,
of sand and sea and fairer climes,
when fruits were plucked for pleasantry
and rivers ran pollutant free;

when folks survived without money
and everyone was family;
when loyalty could not be bought
and love was settled out of court;

when honour rested on a word
and music was a morning bird;
when afternoon was clean and clear
with no emissions in the air;

when conscience was a man's true guide
of right and wrong from deep inside;
when murder was a heinous crime
and poetry replete with rhyme;

when mankind had a heart and soul
and kindness was worth more than gold;
when goodness was a gift divine
that caused the sun each day to shine;

when truth was pure and not contrived
and honesty was still alive;
when giving sprung straight from the heart
and poetry was seen as art;

when unlocked goods were all secure
and strangers welcome at each door;
when justice had no need to cry
and 'equal rights' was not a lie;

when man truly had faith in God
and right was not the sharper sword;
when man's character was his wealth
and nothing valued more than health;

when neighbour on neighbour could call
and water was still free to all;
when virtue was a man's desire
and justice was just and not for hire;

when innocence, a little child,
was pure in thought and undefiled,
believing in the victory
of goodness over enmity;

when maidens gave their heart for love
and chivalry would kiss their glove;
when men, all men, shared camaraderie,
declaring strength in unity;

when man and beast dwelt together
with love and respect for nature;
when caring was a cooling breeze
that banished every foul disease;

when love abounded everywhere
and every heart was full of cheer,
and freedom chirped from every tree
proclaiming that all men are free.

Those were the days, the good old days,
when life was lit by solar rays
and love was borne on angels’ wings
and Coltrane blew 'My Favourite Things';

those were the days, the good old days,
when beauty, the beholder’s gaze,
a humble lily in the field,
the joy of life would oft reveal;

those were the days, the good old days,
when life was but a pleasant haze
that floated by without a care,
no clock oppressing anywhere;

those were the days, the good old days,
when bards and poets wrote sweet lays
and love was not a fantasy
of fools' and dreamers' wild fancy.

Sing to me of happier times,
of sand and surf and fairer climes,
when lutes were plucked for pleasantry
and living was pure poetry;

sing to me of happier times,
of sand and sea and fairer climes,
and if utopia never was,
doubt not that it can come to pass.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance