Fragments of Mayberry

To find again that Mayberry day replete,
a gentle sway ‘neath peeling ivies twine,
all sweetness sour , diminished by the heat,
but still, absinthe for memories decline.
So pendulous as time unwound am I,
the back swing so much better than the fore,
perhaps rose tinted fancies hold my eye,
to walk nostalgic avenues once more,
a mirage of that innocence unbound,
which dissipates as dust, in sun beams haze,
till stark reality pervades the ground,
a jaded bitter sight, that steals my gaze.

Oh sorrow wells, tis more than I can say,
to find then lose, that perfect Mayberry day.