Can this truly be the spot where once stood a tiny cottage?
I remember so well the minute windows, with their leaded panes
On a wet day, glistening like small squares of crystal
And oh, that door, so solid and strong, yet so small
To me then, of course it would not have been so tiny
As I was tiny myself
As my mind winged back over the years
I can recall the garden, at the bottom lay an orchard
And I remember, we had all kinds of fruit trees
We always seemed to have apples, huge ones that were made into pies
We were taken on walks or picnics, yes, I remember so well
But where has it all gone
As I stand here, I can see a row of neat houses
In fact, two rows of neat houses
There is no resemblance to my memories of yesterday
Time has simply gobbled it all up
So this is progress?