. Back in My Day I tested my courage---well, no, not really. The heroic stuff had been done before. My generation was all touchy-feely. It was our parents who’d fought the war. The post-war population bulge: I have to admit we did pretty well. No combat stories to divulge, No austerity tales to tell. Not for us the rifle drill, The sight of bombers on the wing. Our time was rock’n’roll and the pill, When society began to swing. Our forebears, they were tough all right. But by the time we came along The only battles left to fight Were those found in a protest song. Our lives were soft and safe and longer. We lose out in just one way, We cannot say to someone younger: “Things were much harder in my day.” . . Sonnet for Young Lovers I walk along the grey abandoned shore where she and I have kissed, and hand in hand have strolled together only weeks before, leaving our footprints on the soft warm sand. She's been unfaithful! She's abandoned me. My ship of love has foundered, run aground. I vow that I will walk into the sea And keep on walking till I have been drowned. My body will be washed back on the beach, My skeleton, the remnant of young love. My eulogy will be the seagulls' screech--- my only mourners, soaring high above. The choking waves ascend forever slow For this all happened fifty years ago. . . David Whippman is a British poet, now retired after a career in healthcare. Over the years he’s had quite a few poems, articles and short stories published in various magazines.