A poem about an old man who is in love with his memories

The station was filled with the weight of the past, History seeped from its dark stone walls,

Why is this the story I didn't write?

Chapter 3 - Kevin Bell. When we were busy playing football on the triangular pitch a boy who wasn't part of our little gang used to try and join us. He was Kevin Bell. I dreaded him appearing.

Chapter 2 - The Beautiful Game. It became a summer of football. The world cup had awakened everyone's interest; so when it wasn't raining we played football, which was most days.

In September 1966 the six weeks summer holiday ended and I returned to school to start a new school year. I was ten years old.

A Limerick about the impatience of being young

A little poem about a rather larger than life cat I remember from my childhood.