Oh sweet, oh darling Peter
Your tender, youthful eyes
Are creasing beneath the orb
Where tears collect. The prize
You almost grasped but lost,
Let slip; who is to blame
For the bitter salt-sting now?
All your laurels, all your fame
They have forgot, or ignored
Or failed to see. They care
Only for youth, not monuments
Of your age. Not fair. Not fair
But true. Never Never-Never Land
Any more. Just your dusty toys
They now ignore; your lost Lost Boys.
D.J.A
08/06/09
