Now that my days are almost done

Now that my days are almost done
The things I coveted when I was young 
Now as inaccessible as my youth 
Prevent my ageing gracefully

So many unfulfilled desires
Some I recall
Οthers nudge a memory or two 
The treehouse I never owned
The bike I never rode

And the love I could not hold

In school I'd feel sublime 
So sure I'd be a poet  
Or a scholar of some kind 
Always with my head in clouds 
And feet an inch or two above the ground

Whatever will become of her they’d say

And shake their heads in such dismay

Now I drag my feet

In worn-out slippers of defeat
I prowl the premises at night 
Stumbling on the grieving ghosts 

Of things that never came to pass 
A crib death of a kind 
One hardly dares to speak about..