Time to put this one to bed  - at least for a while...

We sing the old songs once more,
Sisters, dad, all of us, hey -
With all kinds of voice
And mum to play
With the curtains damping our noise
Ah yes, the years…
Who now buys the sheet music scores?

We sit outside on the grass
Nanny and all of us, hey -
Cups of tea cooling, look,
And a boy at play
Or turning the page of a book
Ah yes, the years…
Now who sits as the hours go past?

We gather again by the fire
Me and my father, hey -
Christmas tree spangled and starred
Unwound streamers astray
And the post-box crammed with cards
Ah yes, the years…
Who will now sit in that chair?

Now memories recur like songs
Unbidden melodies, hey:
Tunes you can’t get out of your head
But no one plays
The piano gathers dust instead
Ah, yes, the years…
Turn from the past and move on

Now memories recur like songs

Unbidden melodies, hey:

Tunes you can’t get out of your head

But no one plays

…… the piano gathers dust instead / The piano and fiddle players dead  

Ah, yes, the years…

Turn from the past and move on 

Impossible not to feel sad for those times that are gone.  Is that always the way?  There must be many for whom an unhappy childhood is best forgotten.    The past is always strange.

Just a few decisions still to be made and then...move on.

The concluding verse I find the hardest. It's become very nostalgic, which I'm not sure is a good thing. Anyway:

Now memories recur like songs

Tunes you can’t get out of your head

……

Ah, yes, the years…

Turn from the past and move on

(I decided the last line had to get me out of it!)

Then moved line 2 to line 3 and put in the one about melodies. Unbidden is exactly what they are. Struggled with line 4 for a long time. Referring back to the piano (which I keep typing as paino, a great subject for an analyst!)

Now memories recur like songs

Unbidden melodies, hey:

Tunes you can’t get out of your head

But no one plays

……

Ah, yes, the years…

Turn from the past and move on

We gather again by the fire
Me and my father, hey -
Christmas tree spangled and starred
Unwound streamers astray
And the post-box crammed with cards
Ah yes, the years…
Who will now sit in that chair?

Altering the third line was the breakthrough here and moving the streamers to the next line. It took ages to find the word 'unwound' but that's what they were. Rolls of crepe paper which we pinned at one end and then twisted into curls.  I'm quite happy with rhyming fire and air, too.

Just one more verse, I think. 

Now who sits as the hours go past?

 is my addition to take up the rhyme from the first line.

The next verse is half formed in my mind. I colour code the endings to remind me how the rhyme scheme works:

We gather again by the fire

Me and my father, hey -

Christmas streamers ………..

And ………………………………..

With the post-box crammed with cards

Ah yes, the years…

……………………………………………….

For the next verse I started off with this:

We sit outside on the lawn

Nanny and all of us there

Cups of tea cooling

And boys at play

Or lying and reading a comic

Ah yes, the years…

Who lies on the lawn…..

Some important changes.  Grass gives me more opportunities for the last – undecided – line. Changing the boys to boy alters the whole feel for me because suddenly the boy is me as well as being my son(s).  And book would suit either much more than comic. The ‘look’ is a bit forced but in keeping with Hardy, I feel.  Just the last line to work on.

We sit outside on the grass

Nanny and all of us, hey -

Cups of tea cooling, look,

And a boy at play

Or turning the page of a book

Ah yes, the years…

A bit of a struggle but in the end a soluition usually emerges. I had to abandon the original first line which, ironically, was the one that had got me into using this poem / pattern. But it works and it's also true.

We sing the old songs once more,

Sisters, dad, all of us, hey - 

With all kinds of voice

And mum to play

With the curtains damping our noise

Ah yes, the years…

Who now buys the sheet music scores?

The standard lamp has had to go, too, though it might make a reappearance later. We did make a lot of noise and the soft furnishings helpoed to protect the neighbours just a bit.

The next verse awaits...

Browsing through some poems of Thomas Hardy, I was struck by the structure of many of his poems: a lot of variation in line length and a resulting stop / start rhythm as well as interesting appearance on the page.

Here's his first verse:

They sing their dearest songs--
He, she, all of them--yea,
Treble and tenor and bass.
    And one to play;
With the candles mooning each face....
Ah, no; the years O!
How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!

His poem is full of a yearning for the past. I thought I would try the same kind of pattern and also revisit the past but without quite such heavy nostalgia. The 'songs' reminded me of the fact that we did gather around the piano now and then and my mum would play the piano, dad would play avariety of instruments and the rest of us would join in as best we could. We were all amateurs. Mum would buy sheet music of current songs she liked but there would also be music from way back - read from tattered sheet music. So -

We sing the newest songs
Sisters, dad, all of us, hey
With all kinds of voice
And mum to play
With the standard lamp aglow on the side
Ah yes, the years…
Who now buys the sheet music scores?

- is a beginning but of course, he has a rhyme scheme as well. That will need some work.