All That In Me Weeps

All that in me weeps, in old regret
For a child long sleeping;
Who ran on a green hillside
And guessed the stories of the clouds,

Who played when roads were hot,
The sweet tar smell enfolding laughter
In the summer sun
That can no longer warm me,

When milk was cold and clean
In the new morning
And all things were bright and beautiful
In the steep grey streets.

All that in me knows there’s no return
To that ancient keeping