Years of People

Walking down through the town on my wanders today,

Back to the car, passing folk on the way.

I realised how, if I stopped and observed,

I'd see hundreds of years in the lives  that they've served.

The lady with the walker almost bent over double,

The lads looking likely or looking for trouble.

The mothers with toddlers, the people with phones.

The diners all munching, the kiddies with cones.

Who knows what befell in their multiple lives,

Brothers and sisters husbands and wives.

Mummies and Daddies, Aunties and uncles,

Cousins, nephews, nieces and buncles.

Security keeping a watchful eye,

As hundreds of people, before them walk by.

For every ten people at average age thirty,

300 years of life, typed on my qwerty.

Goodness knows how many hours minutes seconds,

So many experiences, unrecorded I reckons.

And times that, by how long the planets been here,

I can't comprehend it, that's millions I fear.

And I just kept walking and it didn't mean a thing,

Til I sat and it hit me, as I talked to the king.

Their lives will be gone and who knows their fate,

So tell them about me before it's too late.

© 2025 Barry Wadhams